


Loyalty

by PeaceHeather



Series: Odin's Son, Tyr's Son [5]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of a prisoner, BAMF Loki, Brodinsons being bros, Gen, Hurt Loki, Hurt Tyr, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Feels, Magic, Thor Feels, Torture, Tyr feels, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:10:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 85,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7468473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceHeather/pseuds/PeaceHeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tyr is captured by an old enemy, Loki shows exactly what he's capable of and the lengths he will go to for the people he cares about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feasts and Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A farewell feast, then Loki and others go on a journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has waited to patiently for the next fic in the series, after I left you on such a cliffhanger with the end of _Moments_. This will be a considerably longer story than the previous two, closer in length to _Grievance_. Enjoy!

The feasting hall at Vingólf buzzed with activity, music mingling with ritual boasts and laughter and the shuffle of dancing feet on the stone floors. It was rare for General Tyr to host a celebration feast rather than a simple dinner for his household, but with three guests of honor that evening, it had seemed only appropriate. Master Völund the Smith and his apprentices had come, and now the apprentices were flirting with the serving girls while Völund himself sat at the high table chatting with the other two guests, Master Seidmadr Mimir, and Loki himself.

"I do not know if you will remember it," Loki was saying; "it was hundreds of years ago, now, but you gifted me a set of throwing knives, when I first left the palace to come and live here."

"Aye, of course I remember," said the Vanir. "I am pleased that you have kept them."

"Kept them? They are the best knives I have," exclaimed Loki. "When I began advanced knife training with Master Frodi, he forbade me to use them at first, because he said they would compensate for any flaws in my technique. And he was right to do so, I think. When he did permit me to use them, the knives seemed even better than I remembered."

"Heh. They do reward good behavior, or so I like to say," replied Völund.

"Good tools always do," agreed Mimir. "I still remember the day I first acquired a _good_ scrying bowl, during my days as an apprentice."

"It is hard to imagine you were ever a beginner," said Loki.

"We all were, once."

"Indeed." Völund chuckled and reached for his drink. "Now, the very first blade I ever forged… well, it was about what you would expect for a beginner. Unbalanced, poorly tempered… wouldn't keep an edge if you prayed over it! Heh. My master made me keep it, and had me bring it out every year on the anniversary of my apprenticeship to him. I still have it."

"Do you?" asked Loki, intrigued.

"It still serves the purpose my old master wanted it to—reminds me to remain humble, that I am not perfect, that there is always room to improve, and to be kind to myself when I make mistakes."

"Surely you do not make so many mistakes anymore," said Loki.

Völund admitted the point with a smile. "Well, no, and that is why I have the title of 'Master', same as your teacher here."

"I still cannot believe I am so close to achieving that rank myself."

"You've earned it," said Mimir fondly. "Though you will still be the brat who gave me my white hairs, no matter what your title."

"Your hair was white when we met!" Loki protested, and they all laughed.

There was a lull in the conversation as the leader of the musicians announced a dance, and someone else stood to give toasts to the three honorees.

"I was beginning to think they were ignoring us," said Mimir under his breath, as he acknowledged the toast.

"Oh, they are," said Loki. "It was like this in the palace all the time. The party is grand, the food plentiful and rich, and the mead flowing freely, and that is why most of them are here; we are just a good excuse to throw the party in the first place."

Völund snorted at the same time as Tyr, making both men laugh again. "Nonsense," said Tyr. "The people of Vingólf hold great affection for you, Loki, and I think you do know it."

The boy—nearly a grown man, now—blushed. "It still seems excessive to me, even being raised as royalty," he said. "All this just because I go to Alfheim to continue my training. And Seidmadr Mimir goes to… his ancestral homeland, and Master Völund goes to Vanaheim with a completed commission. My brother would probably take all this as his due, but I would have been just as happy with a dinner in your study, Father."

"You deserve to be feted, my son," said Tyr. "And yet, I suppose you are right, in that the old dirt pile has not seen a feast like this in many years, and the three of you all leaving at the same time is, in fact, a good excuse for such revelry."

"I knew it," said Loki, but he was smiling impishly as he did.

"Well, my own journey shall be little more than a delivery of goods," shrugged Völund. "And the king will get no more from me for a good while."

"He was a poor customer?" asked Mimir.

"Not in the least; it is only that Vanaheim is a mess, all those petty warlords calling themselves kings and fighting one another for supremacy. A thin excuse for raiding and marauding, if you ask me. Meanwhile the true rulers have their hands full just trying to keep their heads above water, much less rule the realm effectively."

"So it isn't Njord you're delivering to, then," guessed Tyr.

"No," replied the smith. "No, this king is called Nidhud, and he's perhaps a little stronger than most of his fellow warlords, but we don't know much else about him. Which is why I will not deliver any more goods to him beyond this commission; he has promised payment of the full sum, and has a history of keeping those promises, but we don't know where he's getting that kind of money.  So many of these 'kings' only rule over about three hundred people or so… and of course you already know that many of them are little more than bands of pirates." Völund sighed, shaking his head. "I've little desire to contribute to the chaos; I would see my people unified, but preferably under the hand of the true-born rulers of the realm, and not of some upstart tyrant."

"Do you fear this Nidhud might be such a tyrant?" asked Loki.

"No idea," said Völund. "That's the problem. We simply do not know enough about him to gauge whether or not he's a threat. But I will not be a party to _making_ him one, if he isn't already."

"Well, safe journeys to you, in any case," said the prince.

"My thanks. Still, Nidhud has a reputation for fairness, albeit tempered with a healthy dose of self-interest. I expect no trouble on this trip."

"May it be so," said Tyr, and the talk turned to other things.

* * *

 

"I wish I could be in two places at once," said Loki, a few days later. He passed Mimir a neatly folded cloak to add to the bundle the older man was packing for his journey.

"With those doubles of yours, you already can," said Mimir. He tucked the cloak away in his travel bag and reached for other clothing.

"Not across realms, just yet. And you know what I mean. I do not like that I will not even be able to correspond with you while you are on Jotunheim."

"I'm sure you understand why."

Loki sighed, and recited, "' _Messages passed between Asgard and Jotunheim must have the official approval of the All-Father himself_ ', yes, I know," said Loki. He dropped down to sit on the edge of Mimir's bed. "I will not even be _on_ Asgard."

"You have already broken the letter of the law by traveling to Jotunheim. Several times," Mimir pointed out. "There is only so much that the king can overlook before he has no choice but to intervene."

"I know. Still."

Mimir paused in his packing to catch Loki's eye. "If I thought there were a way for us to communicate that would not be subject to bad timing, at either end, then I would happily suggest dream walking. But I will not risk interrupting you in the middle of a delicate enchantment, any more than you would risk me being distracted at a crucial moment in my search."

"Do you truly think you will find the Lost Library?" Loki asked.

Mimir shrugged, reaching for a few books he might need. "I have high hopes; after all, _you_ have narrowed the search considerably over the years. If not on this journey, then soon."

"It will help that you can actually reveal yourself to some of them without it causing an uproar," said Loki. "I… I am fairly certain that Angrboda still does not know who I am. But I haven't dared introduce myself to anyone else."

"For the best, I think," said Mimir. "Someday, you and I will be able to travel to Jotunheim openly once more. Until that day, it is best to be cautious."

"Odin said once that he had wanted to craft a permanent peace between Asgard and Jotunheim, through me. I don't know how he imagined he would go about it, other than installing me as Jotunheim's king, nor do I imagine them ever simply rolling over and accepting me." Loki shook his head. "No matter. I am not forbidden to travel there—"

"So long as you do not flaunt it where Odin must stop you," Mimir reminded him.

"—and _you_ are not forbidden to travel there, because you yourself are Jotun. And between us, we might find one of Jotunheim's greatest lost treasures. And if we do that, perhaps the people there will be more open to other overtures of peace between us."

Mimir snorted, amused. "Do not pretend you seek out the Great Library of the Winter Realm out of a desire for _peace_ , boy."

"Well, no," Loki admitted. "But it is an added benefit."

Mimir made the same noise again, shaking his head. Such thoughts, his student had. "You should pack for your own journey, if you haven't already."

"I have," Loki said simply. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I took care of it then."

Mimir hid a smile. "Excited, are you?"

"You have _no idea_." Loki grinned then, sitting up straight. "Miiran of Cor Caan herself has agreed to teach me."

"I know, Loki. You've told me over a dozen times."

The boy grinned sheepishly, then sobered. "I _will_ look in on you, from time to time. Even if we do not converse. Just as I have promised to correspond with Father, and Mother. And Thor." Loki rolled his eyes at that last. "Though I don't know why, it isn't as if the great oaf listens to me much anymore."

"He is still your brother," said Mimir gently.

"I know. But we are not as close as we used to be. He spends his time among the warriors, and fits in there like a weed in a meadow. I… don't."

"Mm. Give him time. He'll grow up, and come around, and remember who is most important to him."

"I hope so. I fear he will grow arrogant without me to keep him in check. He's already _completely_ obnoxious half the time I see him, as it is."

"Heh. _That_ is simply because you are brothers."

"Perhaps." Loki did not sound especially convinced, but the heir to the throne was not Mimir's concern. Odin would either train up a suitable replacement, or the Thing would convene to choose a better king when the time came.

The seidmadr looked around his chambers, hands on his hips, checking that he'd packed all the supplies he thought he might need. "Well, then," he said. "I do believe that is everything. With luck, some of my old kin yet survive and will welcome me."

"I hope so," said Loki.

"Ride with me to the Bifrost?" Mimir offered, and the boy—nearly a boy no longer—smiled and stood.

"Let me collect my things," he said. "We can leave together."

* * *

 

Tyr rode with them, as did Master Völund and one or two of his apprentices, hauling leather satchels filled with new weapons bound for Nidhud on Vanaheim. The apprentices chattered excitedly, but the other men were quieter, in no particular hurry as they enjoyed the beauty of the day.

"A good day to travel," remarked Tyr. The others nodded or made little noises of agreement. He glanced over at them, one corner of his mouth turned up. "Your thoughts are elsewhere, I take it."

"Sorry, Father," said Loki. "I suppose I am a bit nervous. Not at being away, not really, but…" He tossed one hand in the air. "I've not been gone from home for such a long period before now."

"I admit I am already pondering where to begin my search," said Mimir.

"Trying to remember if I extinguished the forge properly this morning," said Völund, and the others chuckled. "And keeping an eye on these louts," he added, gesturing to the apprentices, who rode ahead, oblivious.

The arrived at the great Bifrost Bridge soon enough, and Völund stopped the apprentices before they could set foot on it. "Here; load everything up," he said, dismounting from his horse and helping them fasten the bags to his saddle. With a few words of farewell and some slaps to the shoulders, the apprentices bowed and left.

The remaining four crossed the bridge to the Observatory at its far end, where Heimdall waited, his golden gaze as impassive as always. Loki had met the man only a few times in his life, and never quite gotten the impression that he was liked by the gatekeeper. Whether that had to do with Odin's mistreatment, or Heimdall's own personal judgment of Loki himself, Loki couldn't say.

"Greetings, good Heimdall," said Tyr. "How fares Asgard this day?"

"Asgard is well, General."

"And her Gatekeeper?"

Heimdall allowed the barest hint of a smile to show on his face. "I am well, also. It is courteous of you to ask."

"I presume you know where these three wish to go."

"I do," said Heimdall; "however, travel to Jotunheim is forbidden. I will be unable to send you there directly."

"As I had suspected," said Mimir calmly. "I will go with Loki to Alfheim, then, and continue my journey from there."

"The All-Father will not like it," warned Heimdall.

"I do not answer to the All-Father," replied Mimir. "Asgard need not be involved in my affairs once I am gone, and will not have violated the treaty with Jotunheim; that is what is important to him."

After a moment, Heimdall nodded. "Very well," he said. "Vanaheim first. If you would prepare, Master Völund."

Loki watched as the master smith blindfolded his horse while the gatekeeper inserted his great sword into the control system, and the inner and outer shells of the Observatory began to spin. A low vibration started, which he could feel in the soles of his feet, growing to a hum which continued to increase in pitch and volume, until the very air seemed to quiver with the purity of the tone. Arcs of energy began to crawl along the walls of the Observatory, and the smell of lightning filled the air. Finally, with a rush of air, a portal opened, leading to another realm entirely.

The Bifrost was beautiful, and spectacular, Loki had to admit; it was also, however, not at all subtle, and Loki had always been one to prefer subtlety over grandiose displays. Perhaps that was why he and Heimdall had never seemed to develop a rapport.

It was too loud now to hear what Tyr and Völund said to one another, but they clasped forearms and then embraced, slapping each other on the back before separating. Loki smiled at the sight; the two men had not known one another except by reputation when Tyr had first adopted Loki, but over the centuries had become fast friends.

Finally, Völund led his horse through the portal, which collapsed behind him after a few seconds, with a fading sound like a lightning strike. The sudden silence was jarring, as the shells of the Observatory began to spin down.

Then Heimdall adjusted his grip on the sword and twisted, and it was Loki and Mimir's turn; the shells began to spin once more as the vibration resumed. Loki took a shaky breath, turning to see Tyr watching him fondly. "I will miss you, Father," he said.

Tyr stepped forward and embraced Loki fiercely, with rough kisses to his cheek, his forehead, and then his other cheek. "I am so very proud of you, my son," he said. "And I will miss you, too. Write often!"

"I shall." Loki blinked back tears, but he was smiling and helpless to stop. "It is only five years. The blink of an eye, and we shall see each other again."

"I am counting on it." Tyr laid his hand on Loki's head in a gesture of blessing. "You are loved, my son; never forget it."

"I won't."

"Safe journeys."

Loki nodded. "Try not to beat up too many of the recruits."

"Heh." With a last slap to Loki's shoulder, Tyr stepped back, smiling proudly. He turned to say something to Mimir, and the two men clasped forearms as Mimir laughed.

And then the portal was open, and it was time to step through.

* * *

 

"I prefer my pathways," said Loki once they landed. The breeze rustled through the tall grasses of the Tandoor Prairie, but otherwise the stillness was absolute. The activation of the Bifrost tended to frighten wildlife away from the area for a while, and today was no exception.

"I can imagine," said Mimir. "I do wish it were a skill I could learn."

"I am sorry that it isn't," said Loki. "The closest I could imagine would be if you were to ride Sleipnir, but I do not know if even that would work for anyone without seidr."

"Mm. An experiment for another time," said the elder seidmadr. "Shall we begin walking, or wait for the elves to come to us?"

"We wait," said Loki. "It is against their custom for foreigners to travel the plains unescorted. We might disrupt a hunt, or endanger ourselves without realizing it."

"Fortunately you will not have to wait long," said a third person, and both men turned to see an elven woman walking toward them, wearing the facial tattoos that marked her as a shaman of her people. "Although I would not worry over disrupting a hunt; your Bifrost does that well enough on its own."

"Miiran of Cor Caan," said Loki with a grin. "Great is my luck."

"And my luck is great as well, to again see Loki son of Tyr," said the Miiran, bowing to him with the particular hand gestures that the elves used as a sign of courtesy between users of seidr. "And whom has luck brought with you, this day?"

"This is Mimir, son of Bolthorn," said Loki. "My mentor."

"Great is my luck," said Mimir. His hand gestures weren't quite as precise as Miiran's, but close enough that she smiled to see them.

"As is mine," she said. "You must be very proud of your student."

"I am indeed."

"Do you accompany him on his studies?" she asked, beginning to lead them through the grass.

"I would not insult you thus," said Mimir. "It is best that he learn on his own, and too many instructors can confuse the lesson. But I would ask a favor of the seidr-wielders of Alfheim. I wish to travel to Jotunheim, and require your aid to do it."

"Jotunheim," said Miiran. "Unusual, but it can be done."

"I am most grateful. How may I settle the debt?"

The woman looked him over with an expression of surprise. "You know our ways," she said.

"Some of them," said Mimir. "I have been to your world before, but it was long ago. And I never had the opportunity to meet the people of Cor Caan."

* * *

 

They spent the rest of the day idly, walking until they reached the elves' encampment and then celebrating the arrival of not one but two seidmenn from Asgard. Miiran sent out a message to her fellow shamans, and they arrived in ones and twos over the next few days until there were enough of them gathered to send Mimir on his way.

"I will miss you, Seidmadr," said Loki.

"And I you. Listen to your teachers."

Loki laughed. "Of course."

"Cause them less trouble than you cause me. It's only polite," said Mimir, and Loki laughed again.

"I learned half my pranks from them," he said. "But I'll do my best. And to you—good searching."

"Thank you." They clasped forearms, then Mimir picked up his bag and slung it over one shoulder. "I'll see you in a few years."

"Yes, Seidmadr."

The shamans began to chant, and before the sun had moved very far at all, the energy had built and the gateway was opened. With little fanfare, Mimir stepped into it, and was gone in a flash of light.

Loki moved in then with the other apprentices, to distribute drinks and food to the shamans, who sat or lay back in the grass catching their breath. Miiran opened her eyes and grinned up at him when he passed her a piece of fruit.

"So you wish to be a combat mage, eh?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter feels a little rambly to me, but I didn't want to make you all wait any longer while I put something together.


	2. Nidhud and Volund

"I have seen a thing, my king."

Nidhud, ruler of seven islands, with a fleet of a thousand ships, did not even look up from his desk. Captain's quarters, and the smarmy little bastard still hadn't bothered to knock. "You see many things, Vekel."

"Ah, but this one will please my king."

"Mm. And what is the price for this information, if it will so please me?"

"One pretty girl," simpered Vekel. "Or perhaps a pretty boy. I am not feeling picky, today." And the man giggled, an oily sound that grated on the king's last nerve.

Nidhud hid his distaste, not that it was any secret how he felt about his so-called court sorcerer. Every stereotype that Asgard liked to level against male users of magic, Vekel lived up to. No—Vekel _embraced_ them. Nidhud had no idea why; the stereotypes were all Aesir and the man himself was as Vanir as Nidhud, yet he took visible delight in the discomfort it caused when he acted the way he did in front of others.

"You've still discovered no other way to get laid?" Nidhud asked mildly, and Vekel hissed like a wet cat.

"They fear my _power_ ," he said, and Nidhud simply rolled his eyes.

"They might fear you less if you bathed more often." The king put a last note in his ledger, then shut the book firmly and looked up.

Vekel stood too close, as he always did, his hands clutched together at his breast as if he held secrets between them; his fingers twitched with some spasm that made it seem as if the secrets themselves were painful to touch. Perhaps they were. Vekel wasn't leering, for once, but that was only because Nidhud had taught him with his fists what would happen if he didn't keep his lecherous eyes on other people instead. Nidhud had no patience for Vekel's games, and was possibly the only person on Vanaheim who was completely unafraid of what the sorcerer could do.

(Handy thing, his grandmother's enchantment. Nidhud leaned back in his chair and let one thumb slip behind his belt to stroke the silk just over the tattoo, just inside the ridge of bone at the top of his hip.)

"So you've seen a thing. What is it?"

Vekel pouted, and swayed back and forth with the motion of the ship. "Not until I get my pretty girl."

Nidhud sighed. "Kaet! Get your ass in here."

An Aesir man stepped through the door to the captain's quarters. His nose and cheeks were permanently reddened from a century or two of strong drink, but he'd been sober almost as long as Nidhud had known him. He had the broad shoulders and swaggering gait of a typical Aesir soldier, not to mention the skill, but he refused to talk about what had caused him to leave Asgard and come live on Vanaheim instead.

The very last time Kaet had been drunk, it had been Nidhud who had gotten him that way; he'd let the man drink himself senseless, and listened while he rambled, and hired him as a bodyguard the very next day.

Kaet's past could stay buried, as far as Nidhud was concerned, as long as he kept his sword sharp and did what he was told. So far, their arrangement had worked well, and Kaet had risen through the ranks with the same ruthlessness that Nidhud himself employed. He now stood as captain of Nidhud's guard, and occasional runner of distasteful errands.

Nidhud opened a drawer and pulled out one of the many purses he kept there, then tossed it for Kaet to snatch out of the air. "Vekel wants a _pretty girl_ ," he said. "See that she'll survive the night this time, and is safely ashore by morning."

"Aye, sir."

"Mayhaps the guard will want to hear my news as well," said Vekel. "Mayhaps it will please him."

"Get on with it," said Nidhud, but he gestured for Kaet to wait.

"Your commissioned weapons will arrive soon," said the sorcerer, smiling as if this were some great revelation.

"The deadline for the commission is in three days' time, Vekel, I already knew that. This is not news."

"Ah, but the smith is the great Völund himself, almost as good as a dwarf for making weapons."

"As I'm the one who commissioned him, I already knew that, too," said Nidhud. "Again: not news. Spit it out, or you'll have no pretty girl tonight or for the next month."

"I have seen it," said Vekel. "Völund will deliver the weapons personally. You could persuade him to stay. Völund could be yours, and make weapons only for you."

"And if he is not persuaded?"

"He will be," said Vekel. "But if he is so foolish as to refuse the wishes of my king, then we could _make_ him stay."

Nidhud narrowed his eyes and sat back in his seat, thinking. "What of Asgard?" he asked Kaet.

"They know better than to stir the pot here," said the guard. "The smith is a civilian; a skilled laborer, but a laborer just the same. He is no nobleman for them to bestir themselves to retrieve." Kaet shrugged, and added, "Besides, he is Vanir. If he comes to his home realm and does not return to Asgard, who would care?"

Slowly, Nidhud began to nod. A smith of Völund's skill would be an asset to his court, and Nidhud would see to it that he was well treated. To have those weapons at his disposal at all times…

Nidhud had a fleet of a thousand ships and was ruler of seven islands; with a little careful planning, Vekel's magic, and Völund willing to work for him, he could easily lay claim to seven more.

"Go get Vekel his pretty girl," said Nidhud, and the sorcerer giggled again.

* * *

 

The Bifrost deposited Völund on the island that Vanaheim had set aside for the purpose, and the master smith took a moment to breathe deep, savoring the salt in the air. For all that Asgard was surrounded by the Infinite Sea itself, the air was just not the same there as it was here, in his homeland. Völund did not regret his decision to leave Vanaheim for Asgard, so many centuries ago, but there were still times when he missed the land of his birth.

He led his horse out of the circle burned into the ground and up the road to the top of the hill, hoping to get a better view of the docks. This was the only island on the entire planet where horses were seen with any regularity, not being native to the realm, so while he turned few heads as he went, several people still greeted him and offered him a room in their hostels, or food at their taverns, or other delights should he desire them.

The name of the island translated simply as "Bridge" in the language of Völund's ancestors, and had served as a stopping point for travelers for uncounted millennia. It had also become famous as a neutral meeting ground, protected by treaties by every major kingdom of the realm. Even the marauders hesitated to bring their depredations here, lest they be wiped out of existence in retaliation.

"If it's a ship you're looking for, traveler, I can recommend my own," piped a child's voice from behind him. Völund turned and saw a little girl, barefoot and with rope calluses on her hands. "We can take you anywhere you want on Vanaheim, and be there faster than you can spit."

"Can you now?" asked Völund, amused. "And if I am looking for the ship of a king?"

The girl's nose wrinkled up. "Which king?" she asked. "We've got plenty of those on Vanaheim."

"Aye, well do I know it," said the smith. "But I have a delivery for a king called Nidhud. Is he in port, or shall I talk to the harbormaster to see if he's been spotted coming in?"

The little girl grinned, revealing a gap in her teeth. "I can take you to Nidhud, for only a copper gull!"

"A gull," said Völund. "Here I was going to give you a silver anchor, but if it's copper you want…"

"Silver is all right!" said the girl quickly, and Völund laughed. He tossed her the coin and she caught it deftly, then turned to lead him back down the hill. "He won't be in until the tide turns, but my pa the captain has deliveries for him and he always comes to the third red pier. Because red is for kings, my pa says."

"I thought you were offering passage," said Völund. "Now you tell me you work aboard a delivery vessel?"

" _Courier_ ," said the girl, as if it were obvious. "Fastest ships this side of the Jade Gate. Long as you don't weigh too much we can take you anywhere you want to go. Like I _said_."

"Ah. My apologies."

They walked together down the hill, he silent and she chattering away like a parakeet (he learned her name was Kadlin, she was not yet fifty, and her father's ship was the very fastest on Vanaheim), until they reached the press of the local market and Völund had a thought. "Have you ever ridden a horse before, child?" he asked.

"Me? No."

"Would you like to? I'll give you another anchor to keep an eye on my goods, so that no one tries to steal them from the packs."

Kadlin looked at the horse with a mix of longing and trepidation. "Do I have to steer? Pa says I'm not old enough to steer."

"No, no. I'll do all the steering. You need only keep an eye on these bags and watch for wandering hands that go where they shouldn't."

Kadlin eyed the horse skeptically, but nodded, then squeaked a little when Völund lifted her up into the saddle. He waited while she adjusted and got comfortable. "This is easy!" she said finally. "Easier than climbing the battens, for sure."

"Then it should be easy for you to stay aboard and keep your eyes sharp," said Völund. The girl nodded, and he set off at a walk, down into the crowd.

They made it to the section of the piers marked with red flags and pillars, and Völund showed his pass from Asgard to the harbormaster's assistant. Kadlin simply waved and called a greeting to the man, who let them onto the docks without a fuss.

Then the smith returned the child to her own ship, where her family invited him to stay for the midday meal and trade news of Asgard and Vanaheim until Nidhud's ship arrived. It was good to taste some of the familiar flavors of his childhood, and listen to and speak a dialect that wasn't taught on Asgard.

No, Völund didn't regret leaving Vanaheim, but he did miss it, sometimes.

* * *

 

It was nearing sunset when Kadlin and her family, along with Völund and his horse, made their way to the pier where Nidhud's ship had dropped anchor. She was a beautiful vessel, the wood gleaming in red, dark blue, and gold, and a carved dragon's head and tail at her stem and stern. Her furled sails were red, with gold emblems just barely visible on them that were echoed on the dark blue silk banners that fluttered in the light breeze coming in off the water. She was a "palace ship", built with what looked like an entire long, narrow house placed between the masts of the ship itself, wooden pillars holding up an ornately carved roof with a smaller second story above it. At the rear of the ship, a tower open on all four sides rose to make a third story. The light of many lanterns shone both from within the palace and tower and from among the rigging, growing brighter as the sun sank toward the horizon.

Völund was pleased to see that Kadlin's family showed deference, but no fear, as they ascended the gangplank to make their own delivery. Correspondence would be a valuable commodity for a king who lived primarily at sea, he supposed. A sensible ruler would treat his messengers well, and it seemed at first glance that Nidhud, at least, was a sensible ruler.

The king sat on a low, cushioned bench near the bow, just under an archway leading into the palace itself.  He looked to Völund's eye like a seasoned fighter, with a scar running down one side of his face and weathered, leathery skin. His hair was pulled back into a single braid that reached, Völund saw, to the middle of his back when he turned to speak to someone standing in the shadows beside him. His robes were of dark blue in the same shade as the banners and the trim of the ship, embroidered in red and gold; Völund could see, however, that his belt was only loosely tied, no doubt so that Nidhud could throw them off in an emergency and fight without restriction. Apart from his littlest finger on one hand, this king did not wear his fingernails long as many Vanir noblemen did, but had painted them with gold lacquer, and gold powder illuminated his eyes. The overall effect was one of wealth and power, tempered by practicality.

The couriers made their delivery, and received a purse, and then made their way off the ship. Kadlin bowed quickly and waved a cheery farewell to him before she disappeared, and Völund found himself smiling in return.

Then Nidhud beckoned him forward. "So you're the smith," he said as Völund approached.

"I am, oh king."

"And you've brought your goods?"

"I have."

Nidhud gestured, and a pair of sailors stepped forward as Völund knelt and opened one of the bags. He drew out a sword with an ornately decorated hilt, with empty sockets where jewels might go. The sailors put their own hands to hilt, but Völund only lifted the blade horizontally and presented it to them to bring before the king.

"I was uncertain whether you would favor jewels yourself, oh king, and what colors you might prefer; alternately, you might wish to gift this blade to a trusted underling, and they could have it decorated to suit their own tastes."

Nidhud examined the blade with a practiced eye, and nodded in satisfaction. "You do good work," he said. "But this is only one sword. Show me the rest."

So Völund did, drawing them out one by one to show to the king; swords of varying lengths and weights, daggers and knives of different types, and a handful of maces and hatchets as well.

Finally Nidhud nodded, decisively, and a third sailor stepped forward with a large purse in his hands. The king held up a hand before he could step forward, though. "I could pay you this gold and send you on your way," he said. "Back to a realm of barbarians who do not grasp your true value. Or I could invite you to become part of my court. Craft weapons for me, where you would be well treated for all of your days."

Völund blinked in surprise, then bowed from his knees. "The king makes a generous offer," he said in the formal dialect of Vanaheim, "but this humble smith must refuse, with regret."

Nidhud narrowed his eyes. "You prefer _Aesir_ to the civilized people of your birth realm?"

"Prefer? No, oh king," said Völund. "The ways of the two peoples are different, yet equal. While I miss my homeland from time to time, I do not regret the choices I made that led me to Asgard."

"If you stayed with me, you would not have cause to miss your homeland."

"But then I would be remiss in my responsibilities to my apprentices," said the smith.

"It is good that you take those responsibilities seriously. Yet you could take other apprentices here," said the king. "Or bring them to join you."

"Again, the king makes a generous offer, yet this humble smith must refuse."

Nidhud looked annoyed, but not dangerously so. "You will still provide blades for me."

That, however, was a dangerous demand. "If I can," answered the smith carefully. "There are many clients demanding my services."

"But few kings."

"Though it pains me to contradict the king," said Völund, "I fear I must. There are several kings on many realms who wish for my skills. Asgard is where I am best able to serve all of them."

Nidhud's eyes were still narrowed as he stared Völund down, but the smith met his gaze calmly. Eventually, it was the king who leaned back in his seat and glanced away, gesturing dismissively at the sailor with the purse. "Pay him."

Völund took the purse with relief, bowing again over his knees so that the king would not see his nervousness. With all the courtesy he could muster, he rose to his feet and bowed again, before backing three steps away from the king's presence.

"Oh, but he's so pretty," said someone else, and Völund looked up with a frown. From the shadows behind the king, another man stepped out, moving sinuously as if he were attempting to be seductive. He would have been handsome enough, except he appeared to be wearing makeup to lighten his skin—and wearing it poorly, in the manner of the cheapest of courtesans. The cream on his face shone with oil, rather than being properly powdered to look clean. He clutched his hands together up under his chin, and Völund saw that all his nails were as long as the royal family's, but were unpainted and dull. His eyes were wide, and mad, and he smiled in a way that made the hair on Völund's neck stand on end.

"He is very pretty," said the man again, slinking forward. Other sailors standing nearby quickly shuffled back out of his way, and none of them would look directly at him. The man swayed to a stop, too close to Völund, but the smith dared not give offense to the king by stepping away.

"Vekel, that's enough," said Nidhud, and the man pouted.

"But he belongs to you," said Vekel. "I have seen it." The way he looked Völund up and down suggested he'd seen a lot more.

"He belongs to me if we both wish it," said Nidhud. "And since he doesn't, yet, we are letting him return to Asgard."

"You said you would."

" _You_ said he would be persuaded. And he isn't. We are letting him return to Asgard."

"But I don't want to," said Vekel.

" _You_ are not _king_ ," said Nidhud warningly. "Smith: you are dismissed."

Völund bowed, and with a last look at the odd courtier, turned away…

And cried out at a slashing pain through the backs of his legs, causing him to collapse like a puppet with its strings cut. With an effort, the smith shoved himself over onto his back, but his legs would not obey him. He glanced over quickly, but all the blades he had forged were out of reach.

"Vekel!" shouted the king. "What have you done?"

"You wanted to keep the smith," said Vekel with a giggle. "Now he cannot leave you."

Völund reached back, clutching at his legs, but there was no blood. The pain went deep, and if he were to guess he would say that he had been hamstrung, but Vekel was holding no blade.

Nidhud growled, rising from his cushions to stalk across the deck. Quicker than a snake striking, he backhanded Vekel, who tripped over Völund's prone form and fell to the deck beside him. "You will not lay a finger _or a spell_ on him after this, do you understand me?"

A sorcerer. Völund might have guessed.

"But you said—"

"Aye, I said I wanted him, but if I change my mind, that is no business of yours!"

"But now we get to keep him."

"Only because now I cannot even send him back to Asgard without risking a war." Nidhud reached down and grabbed the sorcerer's braid, yanking him upright with a little yelp. "You two. Take the smith below. See if a healer can help him."

"They won't," said Vekel smugly. " _My_ spells stick."

"And that is exactly the problem. _Your_ spells are to be cast when I command it and at no other time, and you know it." Nidhud stomped back behind his cushioned throne, still dragging Vekel by his braid, forcing the sorcerer to stoop at an awkward angle as he tried to keep up. The king looked back over his shoulder at where Völund sat, a sailor on either arm hoisting him upright while he fought not to cry out in pain. "You will be well treated, as I promised."

"Asgard will respond." It was all the answer he could come up with.

Nidhud paused. "Will they?" Then the king went inside his palace, and the sailors opened a hatch in the deck and lowered the smith down.

The worst of it was, Völund didn't know.


	3. Vanaheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nidhud is angry with Vekel; Vekel plots with Kaet; Tyr goes to Vanaheim.

Nidhud stood over Vekel where he lay, bleeding, on the floor of the king's personal quarters. The sorcerer was panting, one eye swollen shut, but still had a crooked grin on his face as if he were trying not to laugh.

"I'd beat you till you couldn't walk, but you'd probably enjoy that, wouldn't you," snarled Nidhud in disgust.

"Life is full of pain," said Vekel. He moved to sit up, but Nidhud shoved a heel into his shoulder and he went down again. "Pain is the only thing that is real in all this universe."

"You would think that." Nidhud stalked over to his desk and picked up a rag to clean the blood off his knuckles. "I should put you back in the cage where you belong."

That got a reaction, at least. "No!" said Vekel. He cringed and whined like a dog. "I cannot see anything in there. I cannot _help_ you in there."

"Your 'help' will cause a war with Asgard if you don't learn to do as you're told!"

"But I saw it…"

"Your visions are only right about three quarters of the time," said Nidhud. "They're sure as fish shit not why I keep you around."

"I know, my king, I know."

Nidhud snorted. "Do you."

"I keep you hidden until it is time to strike. I call the winds and keep them in your favor during battles." Vekel sat up then, less cringing as he spoke of his own power. "I stop the sorcerers who come to stop _you_. You need me, my king. You may despise me, but you still need me."

"Aye, I need you," said Nidhud, folding his arms. "But you'd be dead a hundred times over if it weren't for me. You tend to forget that, and then pull stunts like this."

"The smith can still forge for you," said Vekel. "I did not harm his back, nor his arms. He simply cannot run. He is yours now, just as you wished."

" _Not_ as I wished," said Nidhud with a growl. "I wanted a willing addition to my court, not a man with a crippling injury and a grudge. I should hand him your skull; the smith could fashion it into a goblet, and then you might be of some use to me that isn't infuriating and disgusting by turns."

Vekel dropped his chin, looking up at the king through his lashes as if he were flirting. "But you won't."

Nidhud glared, but the squirming lamprey was right. Vekel had not outlived his usefulness quite yet.

"Get out. Go to your quarters and _stay there_. If I hear you've been anywhere near Völund the Smith, or anywhere else before I've called for you, I'll put you back in that cage and drop it over the side. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, my king."

Nidhud leaned back against his desk, and watched as the man pulled himself to his feet. It took an effort, but he gradually drew his robes and his mannerisms about himself like armor, finally swaying out of the room with only the slightest limp. No one would question the blood on his lip, and his ridiculous makeup would cover the worst of the damage to his eye.

Filthy little nithing.

Kaet stepped inside before the door had closed behind the sorcerer.

"What of Asgard?" asked Nidhud.

"If he does not return, they may not care," said the Aesir.

"But if they do."

Kaet dragged a hand across his mouth. "It is as I said before; they still know that the only thing to unify Vanaheim would be an attack from them against this world. They'll avoid war if it's at all possible; I'd say maybe they'd try to ransom the smith, but again, that's only if they bestir themselves for him at all."

"They're a world full of warmongers," said Nidhud, "and he the best smith outside of Nidavellir. I'd guess they'll _bestir_ themselves."

"Then count on an offer of ransom. Either they don't do anything, and you get to keep the smith, or they do and you get a pile of gold when you hand him back."

Nidhud thought it over, then nodded. "Very well. Let's hope you're right."

"Aye, sir."

"And Kaet—I'm not a man who trusts to hope."

The other man said nothing, but it was clear from his expression that he'd gotten the warning.

* * *

 

_From Tyr Hymirsson to his son Loki, warmest greetings._

_I received your letter without delay, and can only apologize to you for taking so long to respond. We are as concerned here for Master Völund's disappearance as your words show that you are, not least because I count him as a personal friend. The past month has been spent in careful negotiation and strategizing, in preparation for retrieving Master Völund by whatever means are necessary. Fortunately, the king who holds him, Nidhud, seems to have realized the error of his attempt to keep Völund for himself, and has responded well to our demands with a minimum of posturing and threats._

_I go in a few days to Vanaheim myself, but you need not fear. In addition to the ransom agreed upon between Nidhud and Asgard, I take with me a contingent of thirty stout men, all of whom are proven warriors with experience in battle, including battle at sea. If matters take a turn for the worse, Asgard shall prevail._

_I will of course be certain to inform you once I have returned home, with Master Völund by my side._

_In other news, it will please you to hear that Olief's assistant, Ingrid, has given birth at last to a fine daughter. Fandral continues his training to join the ranks of the Einherjar, and acquits himself well, though you likely already know that from his own correspondence. Sleipnir causes no end of trouble for Master Torfi and the other grooms; it is our speculation that he refuses to stay here while you are abroad, and explores the realms in search of you. Do not be surprised if the rascal should appear in the midst of your camp one day!_

_The young lady Sigyn seems well, though of course she has not yet visited since your departure. It has been only a month, after all. Doubtlessly you have heard more of her than I have. Lastly, Seidmadr Mimir continues his journey; we have heard no word from him, but did not expect to before at least a year had passed. I took the liberty of consulting with the Gatekeeper, however, and Heimdall reports that Mimir seems well enough._

_I have enjoyed all your letters until now, and eagerly await your next missive. Until then I remain,_

_With warm affection,_

_Your father,_

_Tyr._

* * *

 

"I have a seen a thing, oh guardsman," said Vekel, slinking up beside the Aesir soldier where he stood his watch, outside Nidhud's door.

"Take your visions to your king, nithing; I have no interest in them," said Kaet.

"Ah, but this vision concerns you, and not my king." Vekel swayed closer, until his elbow nearly brushed Kaet's sleeve, and Kaet had to fight the urge to shove him back. He'd not seen anything to fear in the unnatural creature before him, but everyone had warned him never to touch the sorcerer lest it give the man some sort of power over him.

"Still angry that Nidhud beat you, and now you're looking to go behind his back," said Kaet with a sneer.

"Hmph." Vekel brought his hands up under his chin, wriggling those talons of his as if trying to contain a live snake. "Seeking to make things right. Seeking to give him a gift. And you."

Kaet rolled his eyes. "Fine. Tell me your _magic vision_ , then, if it will make you go away faster." How Nidhud put up with this little weasel, Kaet would never know.

"Ever since the weaponsmith came to us, Asgard has plotted to take him back," said Vekel. "And my king has listened to Asgard rather than holding onto what is rightfully his."

"He knows Asgard could crush him and his little kingdom before he grows powerful enough ever to be a threat to them," said Kaet.

"And who will Asgard send, to take the smith away?" asked Vekel.

Kaet shrugged. "Probably some batch of ass-kissing diplomats. Maybe just enough soldiers to keep them from getting tossed overboard for the sharks to devour."

Vekel giggled, that grating sound that he made when he thought he knew something that others didn't. "That is not what I have seen," he said in a singsong tone, swaying back and forth with his eyes rolling back in his head. "I have seen someone who _knows_ who you really are. Someone you have cause to _hate_."

"I've left Asgard behind, sorcerer; there isn't anyone there I have cause to hate."

"No? The ones who disgraced you, and sent you diving into a bottle for solace like a sailor without a ship? You carry no anger in your black Aesir heart for them?"

The Aesir froze, nostrils flaring as fought to suppress the brief surge of his temper. Yes. Yes, there was still anger there, but he had come to Vanaheim to get away from that old life and start anew.

"And who is this prize that you think I would be so interested in?" he asked.

Vekel leaned in until he was pressed up against Kaet like a lover, until his lips were brushing the shell of the Aesir warrior's ear. "The half-giant," he whispered, his breath hot and foul. "The general. Tyr, son of Hymir, the one who threw you away and ruined your life on Asgard." He paused, while the other man took a sharp breath and fought to control the surge of pure rage that rose up at the mention of that name. "He could be _yours_."

Kaet grabbed the man's robes and shoved him back to arm's length, staring at him for a long moment. "You are certain of this?" he asked finally.

"As certain as my visions ever are," said Vekel. "I could confirm it for you, but I would require a sacrifice. A pig, perhaps, or a dog. Or if you wanted to be really certain, a pretty girl or a boy."

Kaet narrowed his eyes at him. "And why do you tell me this?"

"It is as I have said, oh guardsman," said Vekel. "I wish to ingratiate myself to my king. The general is a threat. These _ass-kissing diplomats_ , as you say, would send the message that Asgard is prepared to deal respectfully with Nidhud. Sending the general? Sending armed men?" He shook his head, then giggled again. "Who is to say that they do not intend to kill my king, and take the smith back without paying ransom?"

"And you think we should kill them first," said Kaet. "Risk drawing down even more wrath from Asgard."

"I? I think nothing," said Vekel, batting his eyelashes as if he thought he could flirt with the other man. "I am my king's humble court sorcerer, who protects his home and nothing more. You are the mighty warrior and captain of the king's guard. What you do with the information is entirely your choice."

Kaet worked his jaw, thinking it over. "We won't kill them right away," he said finally. "Not until we are sure. But if Tyr really is with them—if your vision is correct—then that old wolf is mine."

"And what will you do with him?" Vekel asked.

Slowly, Kaet began to smile. "What else do you do with old wolves?" he asked. "You break them, and tame them to heel."

* * *

 

"Everything is ready, General," said Frodi, and Tyr nodded. He looked around the Observatory, catching the eye of every man present, and stuck his thumbs behind his belt.

"Ordinarily, this is a time for rousing speeches; fortunately for all of us, I hate the damn things," he said, pausing while the men laughed. "You've all read the reports; you were all present for the briefings and strategy sessions; there is nothing more to say. Nidhud is a ruthless warlord who calls himself a king, but he's not an idiot. He will comply with our demands, we will retrieve Master Völund the Smith, and then we will return home. We expect no trouble; however, it is always wise to keep your sword sharp and your scabbards loose. Are there any questions?" He waited, again making eye contact with everyone present, but no one else spoke. Tyr nodded decisively, and turned to Heimdall. "We go."

They landed on the island, the grass at their feet marked from a month prior when Völund had come, and from the many messengers who had traveled there since, negotiating with Nidhud for Völund's release. They walked to the top of a nearby hill, and with a snap, Tyr opened a lens to get a better look at the harbor, spotting the king's ship at anchor. As agreed upon, they would not board; Tyr had no wish to be trapped in the narrow confines of an enemy vessel, when they had already taken one of Asgard's citizens captive.

The king had of course seen them arrive; the Bifrost had many qualities, but subtlety was not among them. His party was already coming down the gangplank of the ship and up the pier to the harbor town, to meet them at a little square about equidistant from both the docks and the Bifrost site. It was a good place to make a neutral exchange, the hostage for the gold.

Among them, Tyr spotted Völund, alive, but struggling to walk with a pair of crutches. The general's eyes narrowed.

"Frodi. Cut the ransom in half. They've injured Völund, which was not part of the deal."

"Sir."

Once Frodi was finished, Tyr left ten men to guard the Bifrost site, then took the remaining twenty with him down into the town.

* * *

 

Kaet handed the spyglass back to the sailor standing beside him with a smile. Well, well. The little sorcerer's visions had been correct this time, after all. "My king, I fear an ambush," he called.

Nidhud glanced at him sidelong, not slowing in his walk as the warrior approached. "Bit difficult to ambush someone without the element of surprise," he said.

"Then I propose we surprise them," responded Kaet.

"No."

That caught the Aesir's attention. "Sir?"

"We will watch and wait. If they attack, we will defend, and we will win. We outnumber them greatly, and they are on foreign ground. If they do not attack, then we will make this exchange and be done with it."

Kaet's jaw was clenched too tightly to answer, so he only nodded in response. He caught Vekel staring at him with a leering smirk on his face, and snarled back without a word.

He would have Tyr, regardless of what some Vanir pirate claimed.

* * *

 

Nidhud's guards were clearing the townspeople out of the square when Tyr and his men arrived; the king himself waited with a few retainers at the opposite side, under an ornately embroidered and tasseled canopy held up by four servants.

Völund was with them, and so Tyr stepped forward. "My friend, are you well?" he called.

"Well enough to leave this place," responded the smith.

"Let us conduct this transaction and be done with it," said the king. "I am Nidhud. You are Tyr?"

"I am."

"You have the gold?"

"We do," said Tyr. "But the ransom was for our smith, whole and hale. What have you done to him?"

"I am hamstrung," growled Völund. "By their—"

"It was not done at my command," said Nidhud, "and the one responsible has been soundly punished." Völund glared, but allowed the king to interrupt him. "Since you were apparently not notified of this, we will accept half the agreed-upon fee for his ransom."

"Yes, you will," muttered Tyr, but he stepped forward with Frodi, who carried the chest of gold. At the king's gesture, Völund began to haul himself toward the center of the square, while two of Nidhud's guard escorted him.

One of them was an Aesir man, who on second glance looked familiar to Tyr. It took a moment to place where they might have met, and then he realized.

"Kaetilfast."

The other man smiled unpleasantly; the past centuries had apparently not been kind to him since Tyr had dismissed him from military service. His face was reddened like a drunkard's, and his teeth had yellowed from lack of care, or perhaps from the smoking of one of Vanaheim's recreational drugs. One of his teeth was missing, and the gap gave his smile a beastly aspect.

"Hello, General," he said. "Miss me?"

"Not especially."

"Pity. I've thought of you often."

"That is not my concern," said Tyr.

"Oh, but it is." Kaetilfast's smile widened, into an equally unpleasant grin, and Tyr remembered the atrocities that had seen him demoted in the first place. "You see, it's like this. _I've_ decided… you and I… ought to become… _reacquainted_!" And on his last word, he elbowed Völund in the face, dropping him to the pavement hard, and stabbed Frodi in the gut. " _Now!_ "

From the rooftops, a dozen crossbowmen appeared, but Tyr only got a glimpse of them before they opened fire on his men. Tyr's soldiers were fast, and strong, and seasoned, and were able to deflect or dodge some of the fire, but too many bolts reached their marks, and several of his men dropped to the cobblestones either dead or screaming.

The square erupted in noise as Nidhud's guard ran forward, swords drawn. Across the way, Nidhud himself was roaring in anger, but Tyr did not have the attention to spare him when Kaetilfast was right in front of him, blade drawn, and Frodi was already down. The gold coins from the chest he'd carried were spilled across the cobblestones and glinting in the sun.

They fought, and around him Tyr's men fell, and Kaetilfast laughed as he slashed at the general's face. Tyr blocked the blow with his forearm and punched the other man, but Kaetilfast did not slow.

"Retreat!" Tyr yelled. "Get back to the Bifrost!" One by one, the men who were still standing began to disengage and regroup, some pulling their wounded out of the square while others stood guard and fought back to back.

Tyr tried to go with them, but Kaetilfast refused to disengage, pursuing him step for step across the square. He never stopped smiling, laughing again when Tyr went on the offensive and began to push him back. Before long, the square had grown mostly quiet, and Tyr tried again to break away, but Kaetilfast only laughed harder.

"You're mine, old wolf," he said. "You'll not see Asgard again before you're dead."

"Keep telling yourself that," said Tyr, and laid a slice across the other man's arm that drove him back a pace with a sharp cry. The general pressed his advantage, moving forward…

And then he heard a giggle behind him, of all things. Immediately, he took a step back and to one side, hoping to keep from being flanked by whoever had come up on him unawares, but before he could turn, Tyr felt a hand on each of his temples, and a brief, tingling surge of seidr.

He dropped to the pavement like a dead thing, utterly helpless to move the smallest muscle, even to blink. His sword fell from nerveless fingers and bounced away across the stones with a hollow clang. In front of his eyes, Tyr could see only the body of one of Nidhud's dead guards, and a scattering of brightly shining gold coins.

Above him, he heard that strange giggle again, and Kaetilfast roared with laughter.


	4. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nidhud punishes Kaetilfast and Vekel; Loki practices magic with Miiran; Hoenir makes a journey.

_"You will stop!"_ came the roar from across the square; all the noise of battle ceased as if cut through the throat, and Nidhud rushed across to where Kaetilfast stood. Tyr was able to see only his shoes and the hem of his robe. Whatever the sorcerer had done to him—sorceress? Tyr could not be sure—it was powerful and terrifying. Brave though he had always been, Tyr would probably have screamed, had he been able to control his breathing and summon his own voice.

Nidhud, however, was screaming enough for the both of them. "What madness possessed you to attack Asgard's delegation, you pig-fucking son of a lamprey-eating whore!"

"I told you I suspected an ambush," said Kaetilfast, but Tyr could hear the gloating in the other man's voice, even if he could not see his facial expression. An instant later, he heard the sound of a fist connecting with flesh.

"Do you think me stupid, you Aesir drunkard?" Nidhud shouted, over Kaetilfast's growl. "Do you think me blind to your petty rages and your lust for revenge on this man?" His voice dropped to a dangerous register as he stepped closer. "Do you think you know better than your king how to manage matters of diplomacy and politics?"

"I think that if Asgard really wanted to deal with you with respect, they would not have sent a troop of soldiers—"

"They sent warriors to treat with a warrior king! As I myself hinted that they _should_ , if they wanted to show proper respect. They heeded my words. You did not."

"My king," came a new, wheedling voice, standing behind Tyr somewhere, but Nidhud cut him off.

"Do not think I am pleased with you, either, you little jellyfish," he said. "I suppose this entire debacle was your idea."

"I sought only to make things right!" said the third man. "To apologize for my error with the smith."

"Did you."

"I saw that they would send soldiers, and thought it would please you to gain another prize for your court."

Nidhud growled wordlessly, still furious. "You _continue_ to fail to understand that people are not to be _collected_ like trinkets on a shelf."

"Consider, oh king," said Kaetilfast, "that if Asgard were willing to pay ransom for one smith, how much more they might pay for their chief general."

"I did not hire you for your skill at strategy, you witless fool," snarled Nidhud. "You wanted to kill the man who wronged you, centuries ago, because you have not the spine to _get over_ your perceived slights and rebuild your life here on Vanaheim. Do not pretend otherwise! You defied me, you gave in to your petty desires for vengeance, and now you attempt to cover for your _idiocy_ by trying to tell me you'd planned this all along. No."

Nidhud toed Tyr's shoulder. The general could feel it, but could do nothing to stop it. "And what am I supposed to do with _this_?" he muttered.

"The general yet lives, my king," said the sorcerer.

"What?"

"You were angry that my spell _stuck_ when I lamed the smith," explained the other man. "So I made sure that it would _not_ stick this time. He will be able to get up and continue to fight before the third bell rings."

"Heh. Good," said Kaetilfast, and for once Tyr found himself agreeing as a wave of relief washed over him.

"Be silent," snapped Nidhud. There was a long pause, and then the king spoke again. "Huh. He breathes, after all. I can see it." After another moment, he said, "Very well. I will muster a troop of forty men. It will include those bowmen you were able to persuade to disobey me. I will place them under your command."

"And what am I to do with them?" asked Kaetilfast.

"I cannot send him back to Asgard alive, or he will lead his entire damned realm against me. Nor will I send him back to Asgard dead. You think you can ransom him _without_ inviting war upon our heads? Then do it. But you will get no support from me."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that you are on your own. You, and Vekel, and those men who disobeyed my orders. You will stay here, on Bridge, with one ship. If you are able to arrange a ransom for the general, and avoid the wrath of Asgard, you may return in that ship to my fleet and my service; but if I see you attempt to return to me, without _piles_ of gold in exchange for this man's life, I'll sink you personally. Do you understand? Shall I use smaller words?" The king's boots shuffled on the cobblestone as he stepped closer to Kaetilfast. "Make this work and you may rejoin me. Fail, and you are _nothing_."

A rattling, squeaking noise, a combination of metal-on-metal and metal-against-paving stone, had gradually begun to fill Tyr's ears as Nidhud talked, growing louder until it was difficult to hear the king's voice.

"You expect me to take this little nithing along with me?" asked Kaetilfast.

The king huffed in derision. "You are not the only one who needs to prove to me that you can still be of use, and are not more trouble than you are worth."

"My king—" tried the sorcerer.

"Do not speak to me, Vekel," said Nidhud. "Get in your cage, and Kaet here will take you with him, and use you as he sees fit."

How did they treat seidmenn on this realm? Tyr could practically hear the sorcerer cringing at the command. "But, my king, I cannot—"

"Refuse to get in the cage, and I will kill you where you stand."

"My king?" There was another squeaking sound, and this time Tyr recognized it as the sound of metal door hinges opening, and the rattling as poorly-oiled wheels clattering over the stones. "Please, my king, I must beg of you—"

Tyr heard the sound of a blade being unsheathed. "Do not make me repeat myself, Vekel."

There was a wordless whimper from somewhere behind him, and then the shuffle of slippered feet as the sorcerer, presumably Vekel, moved toward the cage. After a few steps, Tyr heard a cry and a stumble, followed by the crash of metal against metal and the noise of the wheels again. Finally, he heard the slam of what could only be the cage's door, and the turning of a key in a lock.

Vekel whimpered again, but said nothing.

"And what am I supposed to do with him?" growled Kaetilfast.

"I care not," said Nidhud. "Keep him alive. Make use of him—which means letting him out of that cage from time to time, to work his magic. Rotten as he is, you'll need his skills if you want to avoid war with Asgard."

"And if he fails?"

"If he fails, that will be your problem to deal with, not mine."

Nidhud walked away, calling out the names of various servants and assistants, giving orders to muster the troop of men he'd described. Through it all, Kaetilfast stood just out of Tyr's sight, while Vekel made occasional noises of distress from inside his prison.

After a while, all grew quiet. Tyr had no choice but to lie there and listen as many footsteps moved away from the little square, followed shortly thereafter by another group of people entering. Somewhere above, a resident carefully opened a set of shutters and a window. Seagulls cried and screamed, down by the harbor.

Kaetilfast finally moved into Tyr's line of sight. There was a pause, and then with a wordless roar, he reared back and kicked Tyr in the side of the head, and his world exploded into white and silence.

* * *

Miiran and Loki were seated together under a great tree, watching dappled sunlight play across the ground by their knees as a breeze ruffled the tall grass around them.

"It's so strange, thinking of magic in these terms," said Loki. "I mean, I can see the applications: using my illusions to fool an opponent, or imbuing my weapons with a little extra seidr. But Asgard simply doesn't teach _seidr_ as an actual weapon at all."

"More fools they," said Miiran. "Disdaining a thing does not make it less effective."

"That much, I do know," said Loki. "My father was adamant that any weapon that can stop an enemy is a good weapon. But so many on Asgard, even now, still think of magic as being the province of home and hearth."

"Hm. And so is fire, yet it can kill just as readily if it is handled the wrong way. Or the right way, depending on your viewpoint. The wrong plants in the evening meal can kill dozens all at once."

Loki nodded. "True enough. We don't think of them as weapons, but they could be, at need."

"Still," said Miiran, "the odds of you facing another combat mage in battle are slim. You are friends with many of the seidr users of Alfheim, and known to many more. It is more likely that you would face attacks in the style preferred on other realms."

"Curses, and the like."

"Yes. Nearly all of which can be countered with one simple tool, but it takes practice, finesse, and strength. Two of which you yet lack, as far as the technique is concerned, but you are powerful enough that in an emergency, brute strength might suffice."

Loki scooted around to face Miiran, so that their knees were nearly touching. "I am listening."

"It is quite simple, really. You will learn to craft spells as we do, as discrete packages of seidr which we then deliver to our target. But a great many applications of seidr involve first establishing a connection with the target, whether it is a person or an object."

"Placing a ward on a door, for example," said Loki.

"Yes, precisely. A great many people outside of Alfheim never step beyond this practice. In combat, they establish a connection with their target, and then pour seidr into that connection with intent to harm the recipient. It is the simplest of curses."

"I understand so far."

"Then perhaps you can see that such a curse is inherently flawed," explained Miiran. "There is a connection, a link between you. If you, the target, already know that, then all you need to do is seek out the link, follow it back to its source, and reverse the flow of energy. Or overwhelm it with your own power. But you must be quick. You must be able to find the link before it is too late and the harm has already been done. Such curses usually aim to kill; there is no time to pause and _think_ about where the energy is coming from."

"I… yes, I think I see," said Loki.

"Good." Miiran exhaled, and to Loki's eye a shield sprang up around in her, in a dome shape that quickly collapsed to cover her like a second skin. "This will sting, but will not harm. Try to find the link, and follow it back."

She gestured, and Loki flinched. "Ow!"

Miiran grinned slyly. "Not fast enough, Treader of the Skies."

He groaned. "This is like the slapping game that I have seen children play on Asgard and Midgard. _Ow!_ "

"It is indeed. So, _slap me back_."

It took several minutes, during which Loki alternately flinched, cursed, and glared at Miiran, but eventually he was able to catch the sting before it could land.

"Well done!" said Miiran.

Loki shook his head, still annoyed. "I've caught it," he said, "but what do I _do_ with it?"

"Ah." Miiran made a second gesture, and there was a tug against his seidr as she attempted to regain control of her spell. "Do you feel that?"

"I do."

"Follow it back to its source. Take your time; catching the spell before it can land is the hardest part, the part that requires speed. Now that you've done that, the rest is a matter of practice."

Loki closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. With an experimental tug, he found the feel, the shape of the little stinger that Miiran had attempted to strike him with. Sure enough, there was a part, stretched thin, that reached physically away from him and into the distance. As with all seidr, its source felt both immediately near and impossibly far at the same time; seidr operated on a different plane until after it manifested, so such physical concepts as "distance" were often impossible to articulate with conscious thought.

Carefully, not wanting to harm his teacher, he felt back along the thread—and then a great reserve of seidr appeared out of nowhere, brilliant and beautiful to his inner eye. He gasped, and touched it experimentally…

And then he and Miiran were falling together, one person, one shared set of experiences and memories.

She was with him on that day in his childhood when Odin had first struck him, a shock and betrayal that broke his heart for only the first time of many to come.

He was with Miiran the day she was attacked by a plains cat.

She was there when he fell in love with Sigyn.

He was there when she spoke to the elders of her first shamanic vision, and was taken as an apprentice.

With a wrenching shove, he—or was it she?—pushed away from the union, and the two of them sat gasping, staring at one another with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry!" Loki managed, still catching his breath.

The look on Miiran's face was an unreadable mix; shock, perhaps anger? Loki couldn't tell. "That… is not something you want to do with an enemy."

"No." Loki shook his head, still trying to gather his wits back into his own head where they belonged. "No, I imagine not. I hadn't realized such a thing was possible."

"It is, but not generally in this sort of exercise," said Miiran. "I had placed a shield around myself, to prevent too large of a backlash of power. I confess I was not expecting you to touch my reservoir, or I would have guarded better against it. But then, I did not even expect you to _see_ it, much less touch."

"Again, please, I am sorry."

"It is well." Miiran waved off his apology. "Now that we know, do you wish to try again?"

"Give me a moment, Miiran, if you would." Loki took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. "I know in a real fight I wouldn't be quite as composed, either, but I would prefer not to harm you as we practice."

"Of course."

Loki had no idea how much longer they continued the exercise, she stinging him with the sharp little "curse" while he attempted to catch it before it landed, or else grab it and follow its thread back to the source. He was careful not to touch the reservoir he saw, focusing instead on the thread of the spell that linked the two of them together.

"All right, now what do I do?" he asked, once he'd gotten a feel for the technique.

"You can rebound the spell back on its caster, or with enough power, you can simply flood the link and overwhelm the caster with your own seidr," said Miiran.

"But won't that risk touching the other person's reservoir?"

"Only if you reach too far," she answered, and Loki nodded.

"So… like this?" He carefully collected the spell he'd caught and bounced it back to Miiran, and watched as she twitched, her nose wrinkling as she rubbed at her arm where the curse had struck.

"Yes! Exactly."

"At least now I can _finally_ 'slap' you back," he said with a chuckle. "The game was a bit one-sided before!"

"Well done. Now, do it again."

"Ow!"

The shaman laughed at him, and they began their practice anew.

* * *

 

The sun was high in the sky when Miiran finally called a halt to the exercise. Loki was ravenous with hunger, and from the growling he heard, the shaman's stomach was in no better state. He staggered to his feet, a bit lightheaded, and stretched leisurely before pulling Miiran up to join him.

"You did well," she said as they walked. "The technique takes practice, but you already understand its basic principles. Now all you will need to do is drill it into your memory, until you can do it without thinking."

"Like weapons training," said Loki.

Miiran nodded, and reminded him, "To a combat mage, seidr _is_ a weapon."

"Yes, of course."

They spoke of inconsequential things while they made their way back to camp, before they were interrupted by the crack of thunder.

"We are not due for a storm today," said Miiran, looking up.

Loki halted in his tracks, also scanning the sky. "That's no ordinary storm," he said, frowning. "It looks like the Bifrost."

The two of them picked up their pace, and sure enough, before another minute had passed a brilliant burst of multicolored light shot down out of the sky, striking the plain just outside of the Cor Caan encampment.

"Were you expecting more correspondence?" asked Miiran.

"No, not for at least another ten days," said Loki. "I've asked them not to disrupt the hunt any more than necessary."

When they reached the outskirts of the camp, Loki was surprised to see none other than Hoenir, surrounded by a troop of old elven women that included Gedreth and Gleheer, two women who had apparently made it their mission in life to see to Loki's comfort, and the comfort of every guest ever to come to Cor Caan. Already, they were offering him food and a cushion to sit on, which he was refusing with fretful gestures.

"Hoenir?" Loki broke into a jog, long legs carrying him to the valet's side while Miiran shifted her shape into a plains hunting hound. The man did not look happy, and Loki could only wonder what sort of news he bore.

"Ah! Loki. There you are," he said, as soon as he spotted the younger man. "I am glad I was able to find you so quickly."

"I am pleased to see you, Hoenir, but… why have you come?"

Hoenir's face fell, and he wrung his hands together. "Oh, young master. I'm so sorry… it's—it's your father."


	5. Plans and Prisons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a discussion with Odin; Thor gets an idea into his head and runs with it; Tyr is imprisoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I tried to make this chapter shorter, I ended up adding words. I give up. :)

The sound of birds on the palace balcony did nothing to ease Loki's tension, where he paced outside Odin's study waiting to see him. Hoenir hadn't known much, when he'd come to Alfheim, but he'd gotten his information from the handful of survivors who had made it back from the ambush on Vanaheim. So Loki had gone to see them all himself; they'd expressed their regrets at leaving Tyr behind, but couldn't say whether or not the man had survived the attack.

"He was alive when he ordered us to retreat," one had said, with a shake of his head. "That's all I know. I'm sorry, Your Highness."

"Saved my life," grunted Frodi, hands clasped over his wounded stomach. "Stood over me and kept the others off till my mates could pull me to safety."

Frodi, Loki's instructor for advanced knife training. The best knife fighter in Asgard, and one of the best in all the realms, according to Tyr. "And there was nothing you could do?"

"We didn't expect an attack. Their king was there, and Völund was there, and we were making the exchange when men with crossbows popped up on the rooftops. Thank the stars they only got off one, maybe two rounds, before it was too chaotic for them to fire into the crowd. Might've hit some of their own. They wouldn't risk it."

"And Fath—General Tyr?"

Frodi had rolled his head on the pillow, eyes drifting shut. "I don't know," he'd said. "I'm so sorry."

Loki had resisted the urge to drag his hands through his hair, still hiding behind his princely facade. Frodi may have been his instructor for a time, but Loki was nearly old enough to take up his position as a superior officer, and at the time Frodi had been deferring to his rank. So instead Loki had stood up with a nod and a wish for the man to recover swiftly.

"Wait," Frodi had said, in little bursts around the obvious pain of his wound. "Your Highness."

"Yes?"

"If you go after him. Whether it's to rescue him or to avenge him. You need to know. Do you remember a man named Kaetilfast? He was a training instructor when you were younger."

Loki had taken a sharp breath in through his nose. "He was there?"

"He was leading the attack."

* * *

 

So now, Loki was pacing outside the All-Father's study, trying to put the pieces together. Yes, of course he remembered Kaetilfast; how could he not? The man had been one more face among several who had made his life a misery before General Tyr had adopted him. The day that he'd stood in the ranks, freshly promoted to Wolf, while Tyr dismissed the man for misconduct had been one of the most astonishing moments of his life.

But what was Kaetilfast doing on Vanaheim? Had he fled Asgard altogether? When had that happened? Had he planned this attack against _Asgard_ , or against Tyr? There was a difference, after all. Had he chosen to work for Nidhud for the purpose of harming Tyr? Was the attack planned at all, or had Kaetilfast simply taken advantage of an opportunity? There were so many things Loki didn't know, and he'd always hated not knowing.

"Enter," Odin finally called. Loki took a deep breath, smoothed his hands down the front of his tunic, and stepped inside.

* * *

The boy had grown, was Odin's first thought as Loki stepped into his office; wary but not afraid. Odin could admit to himself that he was impressed. It had been centuries since their last major conversation, in the Great Vault below the palace; Odin had quietly kept tabs on the boy, but they had not really spoken outside of the occasional formal event where both princes were required to attend. It was only natural that Loki would be different now from the frightened, bewildered, half-grown child Odin had created through his mistreatment.

Tyr had done well with him, it seemed. It was a relief to know Odin had not harmed him too badly.

"Loki," he greeted. "It has been some time."

"Yes, All-Father."

Odin waited, but Loki did not speak. "You wished to see me?" he finally prompted.

"I did, sir." He stood perfectly still, his hands behind his back. Likely hiding some nervous gesture, if Odin had to guess.

He gestured toward a chair, and pushed aside the papers he had been reading. "Come. Sit. I assume you would not have come on a frivolous errand."

"No, All-Father." Loki moved across the room with more grace than most of the warriors Odin knew, but without the effeminate affectations Odin had once dreaded would appear. The boy had magic. In Asgard, that was as good as announcing that one was no true man.

Of course, Frigga had reminded him, at length and with tremendous volume, that not only were those beliefs false, even if they'd been true Loki was not of Asgard and not subject to their dictates. Odin only wished he could blame his own connection to the magic of Asgard for his past foolishness.

"I wanted to know what Asgard will do about reclaiming Völund the Smith and General Tyr from the Vanir king, Nidhud," said Loki.

Odin nodded. "I thought you might."

He was still trying to frame his response when the boy pushed. "And?" Odin raised an eyebrow, but while Loki looked apprehensive, he did not quail or cringe. "Master Frodi said the attack was led by Kaetilfast. Do you remember him? He was a drill instructor when I first began training."

"I do not," said Odin, "but I am not sure I find the information relevant, in any case."

Loki frowned, but let it drop. "So what have you decided?"

"Our negotiations with Nidhud suggested that he was little better than a petty warlord, one who would bow to the might of Asgard and give us back our citizen. The ransom was agreed upon, and Tyr was sent to make the exchange. Clearly, we underestimated him. He is more devious than we were led to believe, and until we know more of him, it is not wise to risk our forces."

"What if the attack was instigated by Kaetilfast, and not Nidhud?"

"Again, not relevant. If Nidhud cannot control his underlings, then he is a weak king, but that only places this Kaetilfast in the position of warlord. The effect is identical."

"And in either case, you are saying that you will do nothing," said Loki. "Even though now he has _two_ of Asgard's citizens, and one of them is your most trusted general."

Odin frowned. "I do not say we will do nothing. Only that we will do nothing _yet_. We need to know more, before it is safe to act again."

"When has Asgard ever been concerned about safety?"

"More often than you might think," retorted the king. "Vanaheim is a political morass, and has been ever since the days of my father, Bor."

"Yes, I know that from my lessons," Loki interrupted, but Odin held up a hand to stop him.

"The only thing that would unite the various, constantly-squabbling marauders and petty kings of Vanaheim into a single foe to be reckoned with would be an act of war perpetrated by someone _outside_ the realm. If we misstep while attempting to retrieve Tyr and Völund, that could very well be what occurs: a declaration of war, a unified Vanaheim, and a sudden conflict which Asgard is not prepared to face." He placed his forearms on the desk and leaned forward in his seat. "Do you understand what I am saying?" he asked.

Loki looked away, clearly upset. "I do, All-Father."

Odin sighed, and softened his tone. "I understand your worry," he said. "Your fears for the general's safety. The man is a better father to you than I was, and you care for one another deeply." Loki glanced back at him, eyes wide, and Odin lowered his voice further. "But even he would not want Asgard to go to war for his sake. Not for the sake of only two citizens. We value our own, and there will be retribution… but there is a limit to the price Asgard is willing to pay to have them back. Do you understand?"

He watched as Loki pulled himself together, hid his upset or swallowed it. "Yes, All-Father," he said. He rose to his feet, standing as perfectly poised as any of Odin's courtiers. "When might I expect word of Asgard's next response? I wish to participate if possible."

Now Odin was forced to shake his head. "I cannot allow that."

He saw a flicker of temper under Loki's facade, but it was quickly suppressed. The boy had better control of his moods than Thor did, to be sure. "Why not?"

"For one, you are a prince of Asgard, whether you remember it or not, and you are not of age besides. I will not risk the royal line unless it is absolutely necessary. For another…" Odin sighed. "Think how Tyr would feel if something were to happen to you, too."

Loki actually twitched a little, at that. "I see." Odin watched as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"I will keep you informed," said the king.

The boy nodded, then bowed formally. "Thank you, All-Father. May I be dismissed?"

Odin studied Loki's face for a hint of rebellion, but did not see it. He nodded, and Loki bowed again, turned on his heel, and left.

Odin hadn't seen any indication that his former son would disobey him; that might not mean much, but for now the king thought he could trust it. The boy had grown into some sense, under Tyr's care, or perhaps he'd always had it.

He was, Odin could admit, impressive indeed, and Odin could only regret having thrown him away.

* * *

"What do you  _mean_ , Father will do nothing?" Thor burst out. His brother had found Loki in the corridors, on his way to the stables, and practically dragged him to his own chambers to talk. Now Thor would not allow him to leave until he had spilled the entire story.

"I mean, he needs more information," said Loki. "He says he will retrieve them both, but I… I fear it will be too late for them by the time Asgard finally responds."

"Aye, and in the meantime we send the message that Asgard will obey the whims of any petty marauder who wishes to _toy_ with us."

"You seem angrier about this than I am," observed Loki.

"And you are not angry at all, I suppose?"

"Of course I am!" said Loki. "But we can do nothing without rebelling against the All-Father himself." He caught himself at the look on his brother's face. "No. No, no, no. Do not even think it."

"Bah. If he will do nothing, then we should."

"Thor."

" _Loki_."

"Do not mock me—"

"Then stop acting as if you think we should sit back and do nothing, while _your father_ —"

Loki rounded on him, pointing. "Do _not_ try to manipulate me, brother. You are no good at it."

"Then why do you heed _my_ father's words?"

"Because he is the king!" Loki threw his hands into the air. "He may have no love left for me, but he does at least give a damn about his citizens being mistreated by another realm. He's already put in a formal complaint to Njord—"

"Little good though that will do him—"

"—and Njord knows that if he doesn't do something soon, Asgard will. And he'll give permission for it to happen."

"If it were _my_ father being held captive," Thor tried again.

" _Stop_." Loki blinked, and even Thor seemed surprised at the anger in his voice. "Do not pretend that you are somehow more worried about General Tyr than I. Or that you even care about Völund the Smith. You are affronted because you think this makes Asgard looks weak. Nothing more."

"Well, it does! We will become a laughingstock. And I still say we should do something about it. Put this pirate king in his place."

"Thor, the All-Father _explicitly_ said that the princes could not go—"

"Could not go _with him,_ when he makes his move," said Thor. "He never said anything against us going on our own."

"What sort of—are you mad, of course he meant we should not go at all!"

"Did he?" Thor smiled, and it was strange to see such bitterness on his brother's face. "How do you know this was not another of his tests?"

Loki blinked, then sat on Thor's bed slowly, frowning. "What do you mean, tests?"

Thor scoffed. "Are you telling me General Tyr does not push you, to make sure you are a worthy heir to inherit from him?"

"I am not Tyr's heir," said Loki slowly, studying his brother's face. "I am his foster son, no more."

"Well _I_ am heir to the throne of Asgard, and Odin wants to be certain that he does not pass that power to a weakling or a failure," said Thor. Loki suppressed the little flash of hurt caused by his brother's words. "Ever since _you_ left, he's been hounding _me_ to make certain I will be a worthy successor. He hasn't been able to get another son off of Mother, so I am his only hope for a legacy."

"That's… that's terrible," said Loki. Especially since it was the Thing who decided the next king, by law. It was only coincidence that Buri had been able to pass the crown to his son, and Bor to his. "Does Mother know he treats you this way?"

"She says there is a reason for his actions." Thor shook his head. "She always says that. Anyway, she is probably too occupied with her _shieldmaiden_ to care what Father does to me."

"That's not fair, Thor. Not to Mother or to Sif."

Thor looked sideways at him, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you hated her."

"…I've had time for my anger to cool," said Loki. "She is punished enough by Mother to satisfy me."

Thor nodded, then flopped onto the bed beside Loki with a gusting sigh. "That does not change the fact that Father is probably expecting us to do something about this Vanir king. Nidhung?"

"Nidhud," said Loki. "Do you really think so?"

"I do," said Thor. "Besides—think of the glory, think of the tales that will be told, when you go and rescue your own father against all the odds."

"I am not interested in tales of glory, brother, surely you know that."

"But neither are you interested in leaving Tyr there to rot."

Loki bit back a reply at Thor's heavyhanded attempts to manipulate him again, but it was the truth. He could barely stand it that Tyr had been missing even this long. No one knew whether he was alive or dead, or… "Heimdall."

Thor propped himself up on his elbows. "What of him?"

"What do you mean, what of him, he _sees all_. I was too distraught to remember it before, but he could tell us whether or not Father is still alive. He could tell us what we face. Surely the All-Father would appreciate it if we were to give him that information. It may even make him likely to act sooner rather than later, if he knows more about his foe."

"Aye… or this could be the test Father has set for me," said Thor. "For both of us."

"Why would he set a test for me, when I am not even—"

"You are still a prince of Asgard," said Thor. "And if I am to be king, then surely you would be my chief advisor. He must have known you would come to me—"

"You _dragged me in here bodily_ —"

"—and he must have known we would plan this together."

"It's _your_ plan!"

"Ah, but do not tell me you would have nothing to do with it," said Thor. "I know you are no warrior, but would you really stay home while I went to rescue _your_ father, without you?"

" _No warrio_ —" Loki reached up to smack Thor on the side of the head; his brother, naturally, punched him on the arm, and before long they had fallen off the bed and were wrestling on the floor. Loki made it a point to almost never use seidr against his brother, so it did not take long before Thor had Loki pinned and was sitting on his back.

"So it's decided then," he said.

Loki huffed for breath and tried to shove Thor off, but the oaf wouldn't budge. "What is decided, you enormous—"

"We will go to Heimdall," Thor proclaimed. Really, there was no other way to describe it. "We will learn about our foe, and then we will answer my father's test, and bring your father home."

"And there will be songs and glory and half-naked Valkyries serving endless horns of mead."

"Ideally, yes," said Thor. He climbed off of Loki, who stood and began straightening his clothing.

"I still think this is a bad idea," he said. It was, in fact, a monumentally stupid idea. But Heimdall would be able to talk Thor out of it, where Loki could not. And at least this way Loki could learn whether his father yet lived.

"You are certainly welcome to stay home and let me collect all the glory for myself."

"Haven't you gotten used to all the adulation by now?" sniped Loki. "Or, since you keep making it all up in your own head, I suppose it never really grows old, does it."

"Do not make me sit on you again," warned Thor.

Loki rolled his eyes; he refused to admit that both the wrestling match and the prospect of being able to do something had lifted his mood considerably. "Let us go to Heimdall and get this over with."

* * *

Pounding, throbbing pain in his head pulled Tyr into wakefulness; he stirred, trying to get away from the nauseating feeling, and groaned when it only got worse.

"There he is," said someone, and he pried his eyes open to too-bright light and the silhouette of a man kneeling over him. It took a moment to recognize him, and then memory came rushing back: Kaetilfast, Vanaheim, the ambush when they tried to ransom Völund.

Tyr growled, and tried to sit up, but was still dizzy enough that only a light shove from Kaetilfast was sufficient to knock him back down.

"Stay there," said Kaetilfast, "and I won't have to beat some sense into you before sunset." He smiled, baring those yellowed teeth, and added, "Of course, _after_ sunset, I make no promises. Things get _boring_ around here once the sun goes down."

Tyr didn't bother to answer, and Kaetilfast's expression gradually shifted from gloating to pure contempt.

Finally he got up and walked away, shouting something in the Vanir tongue; beyond him, Tyr could see the mouth of a cave, with workers moving in and out of the entrance. Nearby, a large cage on wheels held a smallish man in light rust-colored robes, embroidered in brown and yellow-green. He wore some sort of cream on his face to make the skin appear lighter, which had the effect of making his dark eyes appear as bottomless pits surrounded by a line of red. He caught Tyr looking at him and smiled, too wide, and tipped his head farther to the side than should have been comfortable. Long-nailed fingers came up to clutch each other, high on his chest but not quite under his chin, and he giggled eerily.

"Shut up, you," said Kaetilfast, banging on the cage as he stomped by. "You, and you," he called into the cave, "hurry up with those posts. I want the prisoner secure by fifth bell." Someone shouted back, and Tyr could hear what sounded like the hammering of a tent stake into hard ground.

They'd tied Tyr's hands in front of him, and his legs at the knees and ankles; when the worst of the dizziness passed, he managed to force himself upright to sit against a nearby tree. A soldier spotted him and, eyeing him warily the whole while, made a show of loading and cocking his crossbow. Tyr, for his part, made a show of ignoring him.

After a while, the pounding inside the cave stopped, and Kaetilfast stepped outside, staring at Tyr with that unpleasant smile on his face again. "Get him up," he said; one man stepped forward to cut the ropes on Tyr's legs, while two more hauled him to his feet and another pair trained their crossbows on him.

With a shove, they got him moving and led him inside the cave, a damp and shallow thing not more than ten paces deep. The ceiling had partially collapsed at some point, leaving huge boulders on the ground, slick from condensation and mineral buildup as stalagmites tried to form. Jutting from one boulder were two metal rods, each with a chain and shackle attached. They were fairly far apart, and low enough that Tyr would be unable to stand once the shackles were on his wrists. If he sat, his arms would go numb; if he rose up on his knees to bring circulation back, the shape of the boulder meant that his back would be arched painfully and his chest left exposed.

And of course, because Kaetilfast was just that much of a bastard, the boulder sat in a pool of cold water about as high as Tyr's ankles. He'd be freezing once night fell, and probably wouldn't have much chance to warm up during the day.

Someone came up behind Tyr and pulled his head back, holding a knife to his throat while another man freed his wrists. Quickly, four others grabbed his arms and forced him down onto his knees, spreading his arms wide and locking the manacles shut. The water soaked into Tyr's breeches and trickled down the inside of his boots while Kaetilfast grinned at him, and the other men moved away.

"It pleases me to see you like this, I must admit," he said. "Although you are a bit overdressed for the occasion." He reached forward and ripped the brooch off Tyr's cloak—a gift from Loki, set with Muspelheim opals that glowed with their own light in the dimness of the cave—and pinned it to his own vest. As Tyr's cloak slid off his shoulders and into the water, Kaetilfast pulled a knife and began sawing through the leather straps on Tyr's armor, clearly not caring if he happened to cut Tyr also. Tyr winced once or twice but did not give the other man the satisfaction of crying out or otherwise showing his discomfort, while the other man tossed pieces of armor over his shoulder and out of the cave.

Finally, Tyr was down to his undershirt, with the sleeves cut away and hanging in tatters along his sides. He could feel blood trickling down his ribs, and his feet were already going cold inside his soaked boots. He glared up at Kaetilfast, but said nothing; this wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with pain or a little blood, and a sniveling coward the likes of Kaetilfast was not going to see him brought low.

"Think I'll get a hammer and reshape that breastplate of yours into a pisspot," said Kaetilfast. Tyr only rolled his eyes, and watched as the other man's expression changed again. "But first," he added, putting the knife away and balling up his fists, "let's do something about your attitude."


	6. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki prepare to go to Vanaheim; later, Kaetilfast prepares to receive them.

"Will you do nothing but fret?" asked Thor, on their way through the capital toward the Observatory.

"It's been more than a day since Father was captured," said Loki. "The time difference between the realms meant that it was mid-morning on Vanaheim and late at night in Asgard, so everyone _here_ was asleep by the time the battle took place."

"Yes, I know."

"So you all waited until _morning_ to send anyone to tell me—"

"Yes, Loki, I know."

"—and I've spent the past several hours trying to learn more from the soldiers, and _then_ more time waiting for the All-Father to speak to me…"

"Yes, Loki, what is your point?"

"My point is that anything could have happened to Father in that span of time!"

"And we go now to Heimdall to find out if that is the case," said Thor. "You worry like a woman."

Loki glared death at his brother. "I worry like a _son_. And I'd wager that none of the women you know would appreciate your comment."

"Ah, look, you've stopped your fretting," smiled Thor.

Loki punched him on the arm, making Thor's horse startle a bit.

They reached the Observatory soon enough; they dismounted, still bickering more-or-less amiably, and stepped inside.

Heimdall, naturally, was waiting for them. "General Tyr yet lives," was the first thing he said.

Loki felt his legs nearly buckle with relief. "Is he well?"

"Well enough, for now," said the Gatekeeper. "His captor mistreats him, and takes pleasure in it, but takes care not to harm him too greatly."

The worry returned so quickly that Loki felt nearly sick with it. "Nidhud mistreats him?"

"No. Nidhud was angered that Kaetilfast defied his wishes, and has abandoned him. Kaetilfast and a troop of forty men have custody of the general now. Nidhud sails for the Thousand Suns, and has no plans to return."

Loki nodded, forcing himself to think. "What of Völund?"

"The smith remains with Nidhud. He is treated well, though he is not pleased with his captivity."

"There, you see?" said Thor. "Forty men, instead of a king and his fleet. We can best them easily."

"Thor, those men ambushed the general and thirty of his men, and they are led by Kaetilfast."

"And how should that be of concern? A mere drill instructor, you told me, and dismissed for cowardice."

Loki shook his head. "That's not what I—"

"Come," said his brother. "He will be an easy foe to defeat. I shall gather a troop of my own, stout-hearted men who will not be fooled."

"You make it sound like Tyr and his men were lazy and complacent," growled Loki.

"No, not at all!" Thor replied. "Only that they were not expecting trouble, and we will know better."

Heimdall eyed them both. "Odin has spoken against moving too suddenly, at the risk of angering all Vanaheim."

"Hmph. I know my father, Gatekeeper. He will allow me to go. And so will you."

Loki blinked, wide-eyed, at his brother's presumption. "Do you truly believe that this is a test Odin has set for you?"

Thor's smile fell away, and for just a moment he looked grim and dangerous. "Yes."

Loki glanced over at Heimdall, to see if any help would come from that quarter. "I will not disobey the orders of my king," said Heimdall. Just as Thor was about to balk, he added, "…unless you can demonstrate to me that you will act in Tyr's best interests, and that this is not merely a quest for glory on your part."

"It is not!" declared Thor. Loki was not entirely sure he believed him. Thor began to bluster, something about how his father's tests were never about glory, and how it was important to Asgard not to give the impression of weakness; things he'd already said to Loki in his chambers.

Loki stepped a little closer to the Gatekeeper. "You... you would defy the All-Father?" he asked quietly, while Thor continued his rant.

"I owe the general much," Heimdall replied, just as quietly. "Allowing you both to seek him out is the smallest way I might repay him."

Loki bit his lip, but nodded. It was still a monumentally stupid idea, but perhaps he could influence Thor to put some thought into a plan before he went ahead and acted anyway.

"If this is truly a test—" he interrupted.

"It is," said Thor with a glare. "I know my father."

"Then, how quickly do you think you will be able to get ready, if that is truly the case?"

His brother shook himself, and smiled, though he showed a few too many teeth. "I can have a troop ready by the end of the day. We could leave tomorrow at first light."

"At first light here would be a midnight attack there," Loki mused. It could work.

"Hm. You are correct," said Thor. "Then perhaps we will leave tonight; that will mean General Tyr is not in their hands any longer than necessary."

"But that would have us arriving there mid-morning."

"Yes, precisely."

"I'm… not sure that is the best tactic, brother."

"You are the seidmadr," said Thor. "I am the warrior. Trust me to know what I am doing."

Loki narrowed his eyes, but bit his tongue and did not rise to the obvious bait.

* * *

 

"Who will you select to come with you?" he asked later, as they were heading back to the palace. "And how many will you take?"

"They are only Vanir," said Thor, "led by one coward, but I suppose we must take them seriously. They have forty men, according to Heimdall, so we shall have perhaps fifty."

"Will that be enough? Father had thirty when they were attacked."

"Ah, but that was by a much larger force."

"Thor, I—"

"Peace, brother. All shall be well. There will be tales told of this day."

"That is what I am afraid of," said Loki, but Thor only laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, a bit harder than necessary.

* * *

 

Loki had to give credit where it was due: his brother did know how to give a rousing speech to rally the troops. At the barracks, he strode in as if he were the general, or already king, and announced that they would be mounting a rescue operation for General Tyr.

"And Master Völund," muttered Loki, but Thor ignored him.

The All-Father would not give his official blessing, explained Thor, nor would he order the men to do Thor's bidding; he wanted this done quickly and quietly, but would be sure to reward afterward those who stepped forward now. Nevertheless, Thor would accept only volunteers, and only from those brave enough to seek glory and win word-fame on this day.

And so on, and so on. If it wouldn't have undermined Thor's speech, Loki would have rolled his eyes and let them all see what he really thought of his brother's pompous, puffed-up proclamations. For better or worse, however, his foster father's life might well be riding on the success of Thor's recruitment efforts. So he stood at Thor's left shoulder, with his court face firmly in place, appearing solemn and serious and attentive even though he was full of misgiving, and grew only more so the longer Thor went on.

At last, Thor reached the end of his speech. "Now, who is with me?" he demanded, raising a fist into the air.

"I am!" "And I!" "You have my sword."

Predictably, the first several volunteers were young, barely out of training, and eager to make a name for themselves on such a prestigious mission. Of course they could fight; anyone who made it from Raven to Wolf to Bear and graduated was a skilled fighter, if not seasoned. But that was just it; they weren't seasoned, and Loki did not trust them to keep their heads in a real fight without experienced leadership behind them. Thor was many things, but experienced was not one of them.

Fortunately, Loki did not seem to be alone in that assessment, for he saw several older men glance at one another before stepping forward also. He could read their thoughts just from their facial expressions, as easily as if they were speaking them aloud: these were men who didn't want to see their comrades, or the princes, killed in a fit of stupidity, and so they would go along to keep the younger fighters from getting into too much trouble.

Loki's only concern for them was whether or not they would continue to listen to Thor if his orders were not sensible, and whether it would be a good thing or a bad thing if they didn't.

* * *

 

They left the men to prepare, with instructions to come to the Bifrost—discreetly, individually or in small groups—at three hours past sunset. "What is your command structure?" asked Loki, as they headed back to Thor's chambers.

"It is a troop of fifty men, Loki."

"Yes, I know. I counted them. And if anything should happen to you, or if you need to divide your forces, who is your second?"

"Volstagg, of course," said Thor.

 _Not me?_ thought Loki, but did not say. Instead, he asked, "And who is Volstagg?"

"Have you not met?" asked Thor. "We have been friends for centuries, now. He was in my cohort when we trained, even though he is older. He is a formidable warrior, with a great sense of humor besides."

"Let us hope his humor will be enough to inspire the men under his command," said Loki. Thor just frowned at him, as if he'd said something inappropriate. "Try to remember it is my father's life we are protecting."

"As if you would let me forget," said Thor.

Well, if Thor had seemed more focused on that and less on pleasing the All-Father and gaining glory for himself, regardless of his words at the Observatory, Loki might not have felt the need to remind him of any of it. "I worry for General Tyr, you know that."

Thor's expression softened, and he halted in the corridor and rested a hand at the side of Loki's neck. "I do know, brother," he said. "And I promise you, on this day, you shall have no more cause for worry. We will be victorious, and bring Tyr home."

"What of Völund?" asked Loki.

"He is well treated by this Nidhud, is he not? And from the sound of it, the king wanted to ransom him already and was willing to cooperate with us." Thor shrugged. "Let Father negotiate for his return, after we have completed our mission. The warlord will see that we are not to be trifled with, and all will be well."

It was hard for Loki not to get caught up in Thor's enthusiasm, despite his misgivings. They would not, after all, be able to chase down Nidhud with a troop of only fifty men and no ship of their own. "If you say so, brother."

"I do say so!"

"Then let it be as you have said," said Loki.

* * *

 

Tyr sat now, leaning against the boulder, aching from head to toe. Kaetilfast had beaten him until his arms had grown tired, last night, and the stress of Tyr's position had done him no favors either. His muscles strained when he was kneeling, as the chains arched him backward painfully against the slick rock; when he sat to rest, his arms and wrists pulled so that it was hard to breathe, and his hands went numb in mere moments. The water was cold and never seemed to warm, no matter how long Tyr sat in it. There was no rest to be had, as the pain and discomfort kept him awake and forced him to change his position constantly.

Kaetilfast was nothing if not thorough in his cruelty.

It would take a few days like this, but eventually, Tyr knew, he would be too exhausted to attempt an escape or fight his captors. So Tyr took advantage of his strength and energy while he still had it, straining and jolting whenever the guards were out of sight, attempting to loosen the stakes driven into the stone. His wrists were raw from the shackles, but he thought the posts were beginning to give, just a little.

Tyr was just getting ready to haul himself back up onto his knees again when he heard the rumble of thunder, followed by the unmistakable crack of the Bifrost. He knew better than to get his hopes up before the battle was over, but it did seem that Odin had responded more quickly than Tyr would have anticipated.

He smiled grimly, and went back to work on loosening his bonds.

* * *

 

Kaetilfast looked up as the beam of light shot down from the sky, on the other side of the island. It was hardly visible through the jungle canopy at all, and centuries had passed since he had traveled it himself, but he knew the sound of the Bifrost like he knew the feel and weight of his own weapons. In the past month, with all the negotiations for Völund, he had become familiar with its sound once more.

Odin would not send too large of a troop of men, if he had to guess; the All-Father would not want to risk unifying the warlords and marauders of Vanaheim against him when they were so well occupied bickering amongst themselves. Kaetilfast thought he might expect perhaps one hundred men; certainly no more than two hundred. If he arrayed his forces carefully, the crossbowmen would be able to thin those numbers considerably before they got too close and his men were forced to engage. Still, the odds were not good.

"Kaet! Master Kaet!" He looked over to see Vekel, the little worm, rattling the bars of his cage.

"What is it you want, little nithing?"

"Asgard comes," said Vekel. "Let me out."

"Why, so you can run away like the sniveling coward you are?"

Vekel's eyes narrowed, and he looked entirely sane for once. "Let me out," he said, "and I will show you why Nidhud keeps me in his service."

"I know why he keeps you around," said Kaetilfast, but the other man did not seem to hear him.

"How many will Asgard send: two hundred men? Against our forty?" Then he giggled, and the moment passed. "You _need_ me," he sang. "Let me out, and you will see, just what need you have of me."

Around them, the men were reaching for their weapons, buckling on their armor, and dousing the two cook fires. The crossbowmen had gathered, and were awaiting his orders.

"Array yourselves," said Kaetilfast. "They'll likely come up the main path, but some may break off and try to approach through the trees. It would be best if the first volley came at them unseen."

"That is my specialty, and you know it," said Vekel, leaning against the bars. "I keep Nidhud hidden until it is time to strike. Your foes will have no idea we are even here, if you let me out now and give me time to work."

Around them, the crossbowmen were climbing into trees. Vekel looked at him expectantly.

"Fine," said Kaetilfast. He hated to rely on the disturbing little weasel, but it was true that Nidhud had kept him around for more than his ability to unnerve people. Besides, it would be just like him to shriek and raise a fuss and ruin their chances against Odin's men, if Kaetilfast left him where he was. So he pulled out the little key and unfastened the lock on the cage, then stepped back so that Vekel wouldn't touch him as he climbed down and stretched. The sorcerer was already back to grinning too wide and swaying and clutching his fingers together the way that he did, like some sort of maiden with a lover's first courting gift. "Get to work."

Vekel giggled. "I need blood, first," he said.

"You're not murdering any of my men just so you can work your filthy witchcraft!"

"Who said anything about murder?" said Vekel. "I need a cup of blood, or a little bowl of it, to mark the trees that bound our camp."

That was a slightly more reasonable, if still disgusting, request. Kaetilfast was not about to let him take it from any of the soldiers about to fight… he smiled. "Take it from Tyr," he said. "But see that he's not permanently harmed—we need him _alive_ for the ransom, do you understand me?"

Vekel only giggled and rushed inside the cave, scooping up a bowl and a cooking knife from beside the fire as he went.

* * *

 

The cage had sat near the entrance to Tyr's cave overnight; all night long he'd heard whimpers, snatches of song, or odd little bursts of gibberish from the sorcerer trapped inside. He'd heard Vekel's pleas to be let out, just now, and heard the man's argument with Kaetilfast.

A sorcerer could be a valuable asset in a fight with such lopsided odds as these; Loki himself was in Alfheim learning the specialized styles of the combat mages there, which would make him even more of a force to be reckoned with. Having one as support staff for regular troops was a good idea, Tyr could admit. He had to hope, however, that Vekel did not have the sort of training that Loki had gone to learn. Asgard's warriors did not work with seidmenn or seidkonur, beyond the healing arts. If they'd brought a healer with them, she would most likely quickly be overwhelmed by any sort of offensive magic directed against her.

"I need blood, first," he heard the man say.

There was a bit of argument, and then Kaetilfast responded, "Take it from Tyr." Of course he did, the bastard.

In came Vekel, giggling madly. He was clutching a smallish bowl in one hand, and a small eating knife in the other. "This will hurt," he said. He hissed a breath in through his teeth. "I so love the _faces_ people make, when it hurts."

And it did; instead of a single slice to a vein, Vekel stabbed him in the arm and giggled more when Tyr flinched. The wound was not deep, and while it bled, it did not give as much as a slice would have.

Vekel was apparently feeling impatient, or just sadistic, because he caught a few drops in the bowl, but not much more, before he stabbed Tyr again, and then once more, each time avoiding the main artery in his arm. Each wound trickled blood, and Tyr could hear drops of it hitting the water in which he knelt. Vekel switched arms, and did it some more, and despite Tyr's desire to remain still and not give these vermin the satisfaction of seeing his pain, he found himself fighting to pull away. "Rrrgh! Get off me, little vermin."

Vekel just smiled, too wide, and stabbed the knife into him again.

* * *

 

Kaetilfast smirked as he heard the cursing and the struggle against the prisoner's chains. Perhaps that would strip a little of the general's damnable pride from him.

A few minutes later, however, Vekel still hadn't emerged from the cave. "Hurry it up!" he bellowed. His voice echoed inside the cave, and seemed to carry Vekel's eerie laugh back out with it.

Finally the sorcerer came out into the clearing, carrying a bowl full of the general's blood. "Such faces he made," he said. "I wonder what would have happened if I had twisted the blade a little."

He moved past Kaetilfast into the trees, and began daubing drops of the general's blood onto the trunks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to my daughter for the name "Thousand Suns" for the island chain Nidhud is sailing to.


	7. The Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor's forces are taken by surprise; Tyr struggles against his bonds.

_So this is the Vanaheim Bifrost site_ , thought Loki. The grass around them was burned with the familiar patterns of the Bifrost's energy beam; it had been used many times in the past month, as delegations had traveled back and forth in their attempts to ransom Master Völund. Loki had been to this realm before, but only through his own secret pathways; unfortunately, a great many of them on this world opened out over water and were next to useless for him. He was fairly certain he'd never been to this island, though he knew it well enough from the maps he studied in his classes.

Thor's troop might have been small compared to other military deployments, but it was not inconspicuous, as they all climbed the nearby hill to get a better view. Below them, the little town that had sprung up around the site was just coming to life; the sun was up, but still low enough to shine directly in their eyes if they weren't careful.

"The camp Heimdall saw should be in that direction," said Loki, pointing away from the town and into the jungle that took up most of the rest of this island.

"Yes, I _know_ , Loki," groused Thor.

Loki frowned at him. "What's gotten into you?"

"This is my mission. You do not lead it."

Loki felt his jaw clench and his nostrils flare. "And it is _my_ father you are to rescue, but I fear you are more eager for the _glory_ than for the actual result."

Thor lowered his voice and stepped closer, glaring. "Do not gainsay me in front of my men, Loki," he growled.

"I wasn't, you ass," said Loki, just as low. "Are you going to stand here and pick a fight with me, or save it for our adversary?"

Thor's fists clenched and released, in a nervous gesture that Loki had not seen in many years. After staring Loki down for another few seconds, he turned and stomped away down the hill toward the town, one hand resting on the head of the hammer Loki had given him, so long ago.

"Where are you going?" called Loki.

"We need a guide," replied Thor.

 _You have me,_ thought Loki, but before he could speak, one of the older soldiers stepped forward. "If I may suggest, Your Highness… let him be. He's the sort that'll only learn from his own mistakes, and not anyone else's advice."

"My fear is that his mistakes will cost Aesir lives," said Loki.

"That's why we came," said the older man, glancing around to the handful of other veterans who mingled with the rest of the group. "Fear you not, Your Highness."

Loki tried to take the man's words to heart, but his heart was not listening today.

A few minutes later, Thor returned. From their vantage point on the hill, it looked as though Thor had simply taken the first Vanir man to present himself, almost literally grabbing him by the shirtfront and demanding he act as their guide to locate Kaetilfast's camp. The Vanir was an unsmiling man in poor clothing, but who moved like a warrior once he agreed to join their party. It took a bit of persuasion, but eventually he told them his name was Hogun.

"And you can find this camp?" Thor asked.

"I know the jungle," said Hogun. "I hunt there."

"That does not quite answer the question," said Loki quietly, but politely.

Hogun studied his face for a long moment. "Yes," he finally said. Loki couldn't be sure whether he was saying he could find Kaetilfast and his men, or if he was simply agreeing that he hadn't answered them yet.

But, "We go," said Thor, and that was that.

* * *

 

Kaetilfast looked up as one of his men returned from his position as lookout. "They're coming," said the soldier.

With a grunt, Kaetilfast tightened the last buckle on his breastplate, then stood. "How many?"

"We count fifty-two."

"Fifty- _two_?" He switched to the Vanir dialect, just to be certain. "You do not mean two _hundred_ fifty?"

"No, sir," said the man. "Five cohorts of ten, plus two more. We counted twice, and made sure there were none following behind them."

Kaetilfast blinked, then began to grin. Those were much better odds than he'd been expecting. "No fancy-dressed emissaries among them?" he asked.

"Warriors all," said the man. It made sense, since a diplomatic delegation was usually much smaller. Still, sending only fifty men did not send the most definitive message concerning how Asgard intended to respond. "We believe they are led by the prince of Asgard."

Hm. Perhaps they were a delegation after all; Odin could conceivably send his son to negotiate for the release of the second-most powerful man in Asgard. The troop could just be an especially large retinue of bodyguards.

Kaetilfast might still be able to turn this situation to his favor, and get back into Nidhud's good graces.

 "We'll let them approach," he said, "but if they make any stupid moves, we will defend. Spread the word."

"Sir."

Vekel completed his preparations with several minutes to spare, marking trees throughout the jungle and surrounding their camp with runes painted in blood. Kaetilfast had no idea what they were supposed to do, but the little sorcerer was looking very pleased with himself. He was just coming back into the clearing when he suddenly froze, his bloodstained fingers crooking like a bird's claws and his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Oh," gasped Vekel. " _Oh_. Oh, I want it."

"What are you nattering about?"

"They have a seidr user with them," said Vekel, whispering in near-ecstasy. "He could see through our camouflage. I can stop him, but I _want_ him. So pretty. Beautiful. He can be mine, yes, yes…"

"Him? Asgard's magic users are women."

"Not this one. Oh, oh, he's so beautiful."

Kaetilfast did not even want to know what Vekel's idea of claiming someone might mean. It would not have surprised him if the little nithing intended to do unclean things to the seidr user's corpse. "Well, you can't have him, whoever he is. He causes us any trouble, and you're to kill him. Nothing more. You understand that?"

Vekel pouted and came swaying up into Kaetilfast's space, the way he liked to do. "But you have your prize, and King Nidhud has his; I want to have mine."

"No. If they're not here to pay a ransom, then they're here to fight for the prisoner. You'll use your magic to stop his, and then you'll kill him. I want them unable to use any magic against us, and I don't want to hear any whining about some damned _prize_. Got that?"

Vekel pouted, but he didn't argue, which was enough to satisfy Kaetilfast.

One of the men in the trees spoke up. "Here they come," he called softly.

* * *

 

It took about an hour, perhaps longer, to make it through the jungle to where Thor's hired guide thought the camp was most likely to be. Hogun kept his mouth shut and his head down, except for comments like, "This way," and "Do not step on that. It is a wasp nest." The group made their way inward, the noise of the jungle covering most of their footsteps and the clash of their armor.

But they did not find the clearing.

"You said you would bring us to their camp," growled Thor. "You said you knew this jungle."

"I do," said Hogun. "And this area is unfamiliar. That is not possible."

"Unless you are not the guide you claimed to be."

"I know this jungle," said Hogun. He looked nearly ready to gut Thor, but he'd had a similar expression on his face even when he'd taken Thor's gold and agreed to work for them. "This path does not lead to this place."

Loki frowned. The man could be lying, but he didn't think so. Cautiously, carefully, he reached out with his senses… and gasped.

There were lines of seidr laid out on the jungle floor in every direction, anchored on the trees around them. Glowing sullenly to his inner eye, they formed a boundary and what looked almost like a series of tripwires, several of which had already been broken by Thor's troop. Loki couldn't feel a magic-user anywhere nearby, though, and could not tell how old the spell really was.

"It's a trap," he said, as his eyes flew open. "Obfuscation. They're hiding from us. We should—"

Thor pulled Mjolnir from his belt and bellowed, "Show yourselves, you cowards!"

"Or we could do that," Loki muttered.

The first crossbow bolt passed clean through the shoulder of the man standing just behind Thor. The man screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching his wounded arm.

It was as if the scream had been a signal for the opposing forces. In an instant, all was chaos; there were Vanir men leaping out of the trees as if they were ghosts manifesting from nothing, harassing the soldiers at the edges of their formation, and then disappearing back into the shade of the trees without a trace. Crossbow bolts hissed through the air to strike at Thor's men from every direction, but the archers themselves were impossible to find. The Aesir were being slaughtered like penned sheep; another warrior dropped without a sound, right in front of Loki, with a bolt buried deep in his back.

Quickly, Loki dropped to the ground, placed a hand on one of the lines of seidr, and _yanked_ ; with a quick burst of power, the camouflage spell dissipated, and Thor's men found themselves standing on a broad jungle path, leading to a clearing just beyond a group of ten or twenty Vanir men. The crossbowmen were now all visible, and Loki lost no time, throwing his knives to bring them down from the trees, and summoning the blades back to his hand as fast as his seidr and concentration would permit.

The Aesir regrouped and fought with a will, although it was clear that the enemy held the advantage. Still, between Thor's hammer and Loki's knives, the enemy was not quite able to close on them.

And then.

Loki felt the brush of seidr against his senses, and had a split second to think of Miiran's lesson— _Try to find the link, and follow it back_ —before his lungs seized up and every muscle in his body locked.

_Not fast enough, Treader of the Skies._

He fell hard, unable to catch himself, unable to see, unable to breathe, unable to cry out in the agony that was creeping through his body. _Find the link, find the link_ , he chanted to himself. _Focus!_

Faster than he'd ever done in his life, Loki's awareness dropped like a stone into the maelstrom of seidr surrounding him. He could see his reservoir, and the ambient wild energies of the jungle, and the remains of the trap that they had walked into; wrapped around his body like a tangling vine, he could see the spell that held him immobile. It was tightening with every passing second, and reaching tendrils toward Loki's heart and his reservoir both; if he could get it unwrapped before he lost consciousness, he would be free.

If he couldn't, he would likely die.

* * *

 

No one was paying any attention to Tyr right now, as the Vanir readied for battle. Ambush seemed to be Kaetilfast's preferred tactic, judging from what Tyr had seen at the rendezvous to ransom Völund. Tyr would make sure to report that, once he got out of here, or else find a way to use it against him.

The sorcerer had left some minutes ago, and the wounds in Tyr's arms had finally all stopped bleeding. He began his work on the stakes in the boulder again, wincing against the pain, rocking back and forth to build up momentum as he tugged and yanked. Was that one coming a little bit loose? He thought it might be.

Out of nowhere, a strange lassitude struck, and before Tyr knew it he had stopped struggling and dropped back to sit on his heels, his head hanging low. _What?_ he wondered, but could not muster the energy to form the question any further than that.

 _Magic_ , he realized. He had none of his own, but raising Loki had taught him a little of what it could feel like to be caught up in a spell, and the sorcerer had taken a good quantity of his blood. Vekel could be doing anything to Tyr, with that… but no, he'd said something to Kaetilfast about trying to hide the camp from Odin's party. Could Tyr fight against that somehow?

"Hhh…" he tried to call out, to warn the advancing Aesir, but the drain on his energy made it impossible to muster the strength. All that left his lips was a cracked, soft moan, rather than the shout he'd intended. His eyelids were drooping shut, but Tyr fought to keep them open.

As if from a great distance, he thought he heard someone say, "Show yourselves, you cowards!" Another man screamed, then someone else, and Tyr knew that the ambush had been a success.

He felt a tug against his heart, one that made him grimace in pain, and then there was a snapping sensation in some impossible place that was nowhere in his body. His energy came rushing back, and Tyr lifted his head with a gasp. The spell must have been broken, somehow.

He renewed his struggles against the chains that held him, uncaring of the blood that trickled down his wrists or the wounds reopening on his upper arms. Outside, men shouted battle cries, or screamed in pain; weapons clashed against one another, and bodies fell.

And then Tyr heard someone cry out, " _Loki!_ " and his heart nearly stopped.

Odin had collected Loki from Alfheim and brought him _here_. Loki had broken the spell Vekel used.

Loki had been hurt.

Tyr growled, and struggled harder.

* * *

 

Thor fell into the rhythms of battle, smiling as one man fell under his hammer and laughing as someone else tried to gut him with their sword. The songs that would be sung after today would be glorious indeed! What did it matter that victory would not be swift? That would only make it all the sweeter when it finally came.

One of his own men was shouting at him that they needed to retreat, but Thor ignored him. This was what he was made for, this was what Asgard had trained him to be, and he reveled in it.

And then.

"The prince is down! The prince is down!"

Thor froze, and the enemy soldier in front of him slashed across his leg before falling to an Aesir blade. Thor turned his back on them both and scanned the battlefield quickly. _"Loki!"_

A few paces away, up against a tree trunk, Loki lay on his side, rigid, with an expression of pure agony on his face. He did not writhe, or cry out, and when Thor rushed over to kneel by his side, he discovered that Loki was not breathing, either.

"Help. Help!" Thor cried. "I need help!"

"You idiot, get him up and get out of here!" bellowed one of his men, and Thor did not even pause to consider the disrespect. Nor did he stop to argue that he had never fled a battlefield before and was not about to start today.

No. Thor lifted Loki across his shoulders, stiff as he was, and _ran_.

A crossbow bolt whizzed past his ear, but Thor ignored it, running faster even though it reminded him that he'd taken a wound to the leg himself. Blood flowed freely down past his knee, soaking his trousers, but still he ran, not caring whether the rest of his men caught up to him or not.

The Vanir guide, Hogun, fell in beside him. "Where do you go?" he asked.

"The Bifrost," Thor panted. "We have t—he's my brother, we have to get to the Bifrost."

"This way," said Hogun, and veered off down a different path than they had taken in. "Follow this straight. No turnings, no branches. Where it comes out, you will see your Bifrost."

"What of you?"

"I see to your men. You leave them behind."

"He's my brother!"

"And they followed you to their deaths."

Thor shoved that thought out of his mind; it was irrelevant. All that mattered now was getting Loki to the healers, to see if they could save him.

The path began to climb, and Thor slowed, panting and limping as the pain in his leg made itself known. He did not stop, however, and soon enough came out at the top of a high hill. Below him, Thor could see the town, from a different angle than when they'd first arrived, but it was easy enough to orient himself from there. There was the hillside they'd first climbed, with its oddly shaped tree, and there should be… yes. There were the markings in the grass.

Pounding steps coming up behind him almost caused Thor to drop his brother; he spun, Mjolnir in hand, but it was only more of the Aesir warriors. Some of them also carried wounded, who groaned or cried out as their injuries were jostled. Thor dropped his shoulders in relief.

"Are we followed?" he asked, panting.

"They are willing to let us flee," said Volstagg. He did not look happy about this fact. "Let us see to your brother."

"He needs a healer," started Thor, but Volstagg only pulled Loki down and set him gently on the ground.

"He's stiff as a post," he muttered.

"He is not breathing," said Thor. "Or barely. I could not detect it."

"Help me get his armor off him, then," said Volstagg. "We'll see if that doesn't help."

Here away from the battlefield, it was easier to hear faint noises, and as they freed Loki from his harness, Thor could just make out the barest rasp of breath past his brother's teeth, still bared in a grimace of pain. "He's not getting enough air. He'll suffocate like this."

Without warning, their guide dropped to his knees beside them and covered Loki's mouth with his own.

Appalled, Thor yanked the man off and threw him backward, before gripping him by the throat and lifting him completely off the ground. "How dare you assault my brother?" he growled.

Hogun, despite his position, appeared completely unimpressed. "Breathing for him."

Thor blinked. "What?"

"The enchantment. His muscles do not move. He cannot breathe. So I breathe for him."

Thor blinked again, his mouth opening and closing without words, then set the man down. "Keep doing that."

So Hogun went back to Loki's side, and Thor and Volstagg did as well, moving him as little as possible while they slid his harness out from under him.

"Leather's all scorched," noted Volstagg. He held up one of the strap ends, blackened and crumbling around the buckle. The padding on the inside of Loki's breastplate looked charred. "What did he get into?"

Thor shook his head. "Damned magic."

As they worked, more of the Aesir soldiers caught up to them. All were carrying someone, or assisting a comrade to walk, or both. Some carried corpses, and Thor could only stare as he realized how many of them there were.

He'd led fifty men, plus Loki and their guide, and there were now less than half that number standing around him without serious injury. Loki was on the verge of death, along with however many others who had not died already.

 _I've failed Father's test_ , was the first thought to enter Thor's mind, and when he realized that, he hated himself for it.

"They truly allowed us to leave without pursuit?" he asked Volstagg quietly. Some of the men overheard anyway, and glared at him.

"We took out almost all of their crossbowmen," said Volstagg. "And his troop was small enough he probably didn't want to risk being picked off if we turned and fought."

"Or he recognized Your Highness and did not wish to murder the princes of Asgard," said someone else. "Odin would obliterate them if they did that."

And Thor looked around, realizing for the first time, just what that meant. These men had followed him, one and all, because he was a prince of Asgard; they had died because of him. And Odin might "obliterate" Kaetilfast and his men if Thor were killed, or Loki, but these other soldiers? He would not have lifted a finger for them. He would have left them to their fates, just as he'd left General Tyr to his.

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it.

As if the Norns themselves had heard him, the earth around them suddenly trembled, causing one or two of the warriors to stagger for balance as birds took off screaming into the air.

"What—?"

"Whatever it is, I don't like it," said Volstagg.

"Aye, neither do I," said Thor. Slowly, painfully, he hoisted himself to his feet, staggering as his injured leg refused to support his full weight. "Give me Loki. Let us hasten to the Bifrost."


	8. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki struggles against his enchantment; Thor faces the consequences of his actions.

There were skiffs waiting at the Bifrost when Thor and his men emerged, along with triage healers who divided them up into urgent cases, injuries that could wait on treatment for a little while, and… and those whose injuries would trouble them no more.

There were far too many of that last.

They'd flown Loki, with Hogun at his side breathing for him, in the first skiff. As much as Thor had wanted to claim royal privileges and ride with him, there were enough other serious injuries to fill that vessel entirely, and Thor's own wound was not severe enough to merit his taking someone else's spot.

Instead he limped over and assisted the triage staff in loading the bodies of his men—men who'd followed him for glory, who'd been alive only an hour before, whose corpses were still warm and loose and, in some cases, leaking blood—loading them onto the second skiff, which took off at a much more sedate, dignified pace, heading toward the city where the men's families could claim them and begin the preparations for their funerals.

 _They died because of me_ , Thor thought, and it echoed inside his mind, never quite fading.

Finally the third skiff was ready, and Thor limped aboard, standing in order to make room for those who needed to sit or lie down. The wind from their passage blew his hair back from his face, but did nothing to calm his thoughts.

By the time Thor arrived at the healing wing, Loki had already been taken off into a private work area, and Thor could only wish that he were pacing in the area set aside there for family members of the patients. His own injury, he'd wanted to ignore in favor of watching over Loki, but the healers had insisted on seeing to it regardless of his wishes. So now, he was getting it closed and disinfected with a quick treatment. The healer attending him was surly, but Thor could only feel that he deserved the woman's ire.

"It's my fault that they're dead," he said aloud.

"I'm sure it's not my place to say, my prince," replied the healer. She did not look up from her work.

Thor sighed, and did not press the subject. "Have my parents been notified?"

"Yes, my prince. Heimdall saw you before you reached the Bifrost, of course"—which was why the skiffs had been ready and waiting for them, but also meant that the Gatekeeper had seen them fleeing like frightened children—"and notified the All-Father and the queen immediately." She finished wrapping the bandage around his leg, yanking it closed a bit harder than Thor thought was necessary. "They should be here soon."

"Where is my brother being treated? I would await them there."

"I know not, my prince, nor have I time to look," said the healer. She pushed wisps of hair back from her face and finally looked him in the eye. "I've other wounded to treat, but you are free to go. Don't do anything strenuous for a couple of days; you warriors never listen, but give the damn thing time to heal before you go off looking for your next battle, hm?"

 _You warriors never listen._ Thor was almost certain he'd heard Loki's misgivings, if not in his words then in his tone and the expressions on his face, and like a fool he'd ignored them. _You warriors never listen._

The floor and walls trembled for a few seconds, and the healer looked up, frowning.

"What is that?" asked Thor.

"I'm not…" Her eyes widened, and with a hand to the back of Thor's neck she yanked him down, just in time for a portion of the wall behind him to explode in a burst of stone and grit and dust.

* * *

 

Loki fought for every breath, deep inside the tangle of seidr that surrounded him. He had a vague sensation of movement, in the currents of energy around him, but no awareness of his own body except for the intense ache in his chest as his lungs screamed for air.

Strangely, at one point that need lessened, just a little; Loki was too busy unraveling the enchantment on him to stop and wonder why.

He almost had it. He just needed to grasp this one prickly tendril and lift, and the rest of it should slide away…

…except that before he could pick it up, Loki's world went white, then rainbow, a pure chaos of color and sound and seidr overwhelming his control, and his grasp slipped. The Bifrost? It had to be. At the worst possible time.

When the chaos faded, the storm of seidr surrounding him seemed different, but the tendrils around Loki's body were even tighter. He started over, struggling with all his might to break free. To survive.

Finally, when he was sure he could not survive another instant without air, he got it. His metaphysical "fingers" slipped under the tendril, ignoring the way the malicious thing seemed to bite in like thorns, and twist and fight against him. He lifted, and pulled, and twisted, and the entire spell unraveled in one great burst of energy.

Loki gasped and coughed, wheezing as he took huge lungfuls of air, first arching his back to get more and then rolling to his side. He fell a short distance to hard ground, or stone floor; at the moment, he was still too far wrapped up in seidr and in catching his breath to really be certain what it was, or to care.

The fight to free himself had exhausted him, and now all he wanted to do was breathe, and rest. He lay as limp as a half-drowned kitten, dragging one hand to his chest where his heart pounded with the need to bring oxygen to the rest of his body.

Around him, seidr swirled and danced; he had a vague memory of Mimir telling him not to be drawn too far into watching the movement of the energy flows, but right now that did not seem as important as simply breathing, and regaining his strength.

Loki closed his eyes.

* * *

 

"My prince? My prince! Can you hear me?"

Thor looked around and realized that the voice was not directed at him, and was coming from the opening in the wall behind him.

"Loki," he breathed, and clambered to his feet. The opening in the wall was too narrow for Thor to fit through, and too high up besides, so he hurried, half running and half hopping, out his room and around to the first doorway he saw, his own healer right behind him.

Inside, other healers were groaning or picking themselves off the floor; still others came running in through a second doorway, whose door had been blasted off its hinges. Dust hung in the air, and the floor crunched with grit under their feet. There was a bed in the center of the room, but it was in ruins, and Loki's huddled form was easy to spot on the floor just beyond it.

"Loki—" Thor picked his way through the mess toward his brother's side, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Back away, my prince," said someone. Thor opened his mouth to protest, before he saw that it was Lady Eir herself.

"Is this part of the enchantment that struck him?" he asked.

"We'll know that as soon as we are able to examine him," she snapped. "Now back away and let us work."

In one corner, Thor spotted Hogun, grimacing as he touched the back of his head. His fingertips came away wet with fresh blood; Thor limped over and knelt by his side as best he could. "Are you all right?"

"I will be," said Hogun. "You did not tell me he had seidr."

"Does it matter?" Thor frowned and pulled back, defensive. "He is my brother."

"There are precautions to take when one is around seidr users," said Hogun. "They can be dangerous."

"He is my _brother_ ," said Thor.

"That does not mean he is harmless," countered Hogun.

Thor scoffed, but before he could say anything, Odin strode in through the ruined doorway. "He is right," said the All-Father. "You have little understanding of Loki's full capabilities, my son." He crossed the room to stand over Thor, where he still knelt. "You led men, _my_ men, to a slaughter, which Heimdall tells me Loki was largely responsible for preventing."

"Father, I—"

"We will discuss this in greater depth in private." The All-Father's gaze was severe and unyielding, until he turned it to study Hogun. A healer had come over, quiet as a mouse, and begun to examine him. "You were their guide?" he asked.

"Yes."

"How are you called?"

"I am Hogun, originally of the Third Dolphin Fleet, out of Three Arches Island. You are the All-Father?"

"I am," said Odin. Hogun moved to kneel properly, but both king and healer prevented him. "You saved the younger prince's life. Asgard owes you a boon."

Hogun stilled at that, and his eyes widened for the merest instant before he looked away. "I would think on this, before I make my request."

"So be it. Healer: notify me when this man is released. Have the Einherjar escort him to guest quarters here, in the palace, and place a servant at his disposal. He shall have anything he requires, within reason."

"It shall be done, my king," said the healer.

Odin nodded, then turned back to Thor. The implacable expression Thor most feared was back on his face, and it was all he could do not to cringe in front of it. "Come with me. Now."

Thor struggled to stand, his leg beginning to stiffen up and ache. "What of Loki?"

Odin frowned at him, likely thinking that he was only trying to stall the inevitable dressing-down, but turned away. "Lady Eir?"

"His Highness is resting, All-Father," she said. "The curse that was entangling him is gone; it appears that he broke it himself, from within."

Thor looked at his father, whose expression was one of surprise. "Impressive."

"Indeed, my king," said Eir. "We are still examining him for other signs of damage. I shall send you a report, if you wish."

"No need," said Odin. "His mother will be here soon enough. You may give your report to her."

"Of course, All-Father."

"How is his breathing?" asked Thor. "He—he wasn't breathing, when we first got to him."

Eir waited while the other healers lifted Loki and prepared to move him to a new bed, then passed a hand over him with her eyes closed. "He breathes deeply, and his lungs sound clear," she said after a moment.

Thor felt tension leaving his shoulders that he hadn't realized he was carrying. It was almost enough to keep him from caring about whatever his father was about to say to him.

* * *

 

"Tell me," said Odin, "justify for me if you can, your reasons for going to Vanaheim. Against my express orders, which I think you knew."

Thor was standing in his father's study, in front of the desk, grubby from battle, stinking of dried sweat, still in his armor and with the head of Mjolnir sticky with the blood of his enemies. His was the only spot in the entire room that was not absolutely immaculate, and he knew his father had brought him here on purpose to underscore that very thing.

This room was where the true business of the kingdom was conducted. The throne room served its purpose, but Thor had learned (Loki had shown him) that that purpose was primarily theater. A place for the performance of a role. Here, in the study, they were out of sight of the court, and nothing done here was done aimlessly. There were no objects in here that did not have a use.

Except, perhaps, for Thor.

"I wished to rescue General Tyr from the Vanir," he said quietly.

"Did you."

"I thought… I thought it was a test. That you wanted me to go."

"I was quite explicit when I told Loki that you were not to risk yourselves there. Did he somehow convince you otherwise?"

It was so tempting, for just a moment, to say yes. To blame Loki for this misfortune, to escape the shame he felt for his failure. But it would not be the truth, and would not be honorable to throw his brother to the wolves just so he could make his own escape. "No, Father."

"No." Odin studied him for what seemed an eternity before leaning back in his seat, his posture deceptively casual. "I think," he said finally, "that you should give me your report of the mission, from beginning to end. Your plans, your deeds, all of it; from the moment you got this idea into your head to the moment you returned to the healing wing _with the bodies of the dead_." He didn't raise his voice, but those last words carried the weight of stones, and Thor could feel himself sinking beneath them.

He forced himself to speak, through lips that felt as though they were going numb; explained how Loki had come to him, upset that Asgard would not move against Vanaheim to save his foster father; how Thor had been angrier about the idea of Asgard appearing weak. He told of how convinced he'd been that the All-Father was testing him, and watched as Odin frowned but did not interrupt. He confessed his willingness to ignore Loki's advice when they went to Heimdall for information, the questions he did not ask, the decisions he made that put their party at risk before they had even left.

He told of recruiting the men from the barracks to join them—men who were dead now, because of him.

His description of their journey to Vanaheim was a little easier, at first; Thor had given battlefield reports before, and for a while he could convince himself that this was no different. He described the trap that the Vanir had set for them, that Loki had broken, and how the battle had been joined in earnest.

"Stop," said Odin, and Thor swallowed heavily. "Who was your second?"

"Volstagg."

"And which of you gave the order to retreat?"

"I… I don't know. Loki—"

"Did Loki interfere with your command, in some way?"

"No, Father. Loki was struck down, and I went to him. Someone else told me to get him to safety."

"Someone else."

"Yes, Father."

"Do you know who?"

"No, Father."

Odin's eye squinted, and his lips pressed into a thin, tight line. "One of the soldiers saw fit to order a prince of Asgard… and that prince was enough of a fool to obey him?"

"But Father, Loki—"

"Could have gone to safety in the arms of any of your men!" Odin shouted the words, and slapped his hands on his desk as he leaped to his feet, making Thor flinch. "You could have ordered someone to take him. You _should_ have ordered someone to take him, but instead you _abandoned your post_ to do it yourself. Abandoned your _men_. How many of them died because they had no one to _command_ them to retreat?"

"I—Volstagg—"

"You have no idea whether Volstagg gave the order, do you?"

"I have been in the healing wing—"

"You did not ask on Vanaheim? Did not confirm the chain of command?"

Thor swallowed again, his throat thick and tight with emotion. "No, Father."

"And now a troop of soldiers has seen that their prince, the man who would one day be their king, is willing to abandon them to die. Do you have any idea of the _shame_ you have brought upon yourself, in the eyes of Asgard?"

"Father, it wasn't like that!"

"It was exactly like that! You convinced them to go on a mission that you _knew_ I would have forbidden, somehow convinced Heimdall to bow to your whim, fed them up on stories of glory and reward, and gave no thought to the _responsibility_ for their lives that you took upon yourself as their leader. The moment your brother fell, your resolve was crushed. You abandoned your post, threw away the burden of leadership. Your motive may have been love for your brother, but he was not the only person on that battlefield besides you, and you owed the same care to each and every one of them, equally."

"I'm sorry, Father."

Odin held up one finger. "Not yet, you aren't. I have not even begun to explore how angry I am at you for defying my commands. They were put in place for a _reason,_ reasons which you cheerfully ignored in your childish quest for glory. I have not begun to tell you how I feel about your endangering _both_ the princes of Asgard with this foolish plan of yours. And I certainly have not said a single thing about the risk you've taken of bringing all Vanaheim together to war against Asgard!"

Thor ducked his head, and said nothing.

Odin sat back down, still glaring at Thor. "I had planned to attempt to retrieve both Tyr and Völund, together, from this Nidhud. I had planned to teach him the folly of baiting Asgard into a response. But now you have shown them that if their forces are sufficient, they may defy us with impunity. You complained to Loki about Asgard appearing weak— _you_ are the one who enforced that image! And now, should I attempt to retrieve Tyr a second time, they will know to expect us. One more such attempt, and all Vanaheim may unify, as I've already said. You have _undone_ all the work and planning that I have done to this point, simply because you could not see it and assumed it was not there."

"I really thought you wanted this," whispered Thor.

"Why? For what possible reason—"

"To prove myself!" Thor cried, looking up finally as he took a deep breath. "How many times have you set me tasks to perform, duties to fulfill, _objectives_ to meet, in order to prove myself a worthy son and heir? If I had succeeded in bringing the general home, you would have lauded me."

Odin scowled. "No. Not for disobeying my orders. If you had been successful, that would only have taught you that ignoring the command of your king is a wise course of action."

"But you've done it before!"

"Not this time, my son." Odin closed his eye and passed one hand over his face. "Had it been a test, I would have told you of it. You know this."

 _No, I don't_ , thought Thor, but he kept that to himself. Aloud, he asked, "What would you have of me, then, Father?"

Odin sighed. "You will attend the funerals of every single warrior to fall under your command," he said. "You will be the one to speak on their behalf, to boast before the Norns of their names and feats of valor."

"But I… I don't know those things," said Thor, realizing as he did that a true leader of men would have.

"Then I think it is time you learned them, don't you?"

"Yes, Father."

"Afterward, you will visit the families of the dead. You will comfort the widows and children who have been left bereaved by your actions. The warriors may have died valiantly and gone to Valhalla, but you will find that is little solace to those who loved them."

Thor swallowed. "Yes, Father."

"The Bifrost is closed to you for the foreseeable future. When you are not seeing to the funerals or the families of the fallen, you will be confined to your quarters."

Thor took another breath, and let it out slowly. The punishment was just, he knew that, but… "What of Loki?"

"What of him?"

"May I visit him? He nearly died. I wish to be there when he awakes."

Odin took a deep breath, thinking it over. "Very well," he said. "But that is my only concession. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father. Thank you."

"Mm. After Loki wakes, you will report to the barracks, to begin gathering the information you will need."

"Yes, Father." Whether or not he could bear to show his face there was an open question.

Odin made a flinging gesture with one hand, pulling a scroll toward him with the other, dismissing his son without even looking up. _I'm sorry_ , he wanted to say again, but the words died on Thor's lips, and he left without saying another word.


	9. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki wakes, and speaks with Thor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience while I was away traveling. I went to a tall ships festival and, among other beautiful vessels, I got to see the _Draken Harald Harfagre_ , the largest Viking longship in existence, which sailed from Norway all the way to the Great Lakes here in the US just to prove that they could. She's glorious, and I totally get to use my visit as research for this fic.

The headache felt like spikes were being driven into Loki's eyes, spikes that throbbed in time with his pulse, and it was enough to make him want to vomit. He couldn't remember ever having felt pain or nausea so severe in his life.

He moaned, and swallowed thick, metallic-tasting saliva. Something squeezed his hand, and for some reason that made his neck hurt, which only made his headache worse. He swallowed heavily, again and again, as his mouth watered and he prayed he wouldn't throw up.

It didn't help that Loki could still see the seidr swirling all around him, even with his eyes closed, a dizzying display of color manifesting as threads and clouds of ambient energy. Some of it was under control, flowing in intricate, orderly patterns, but most of it was free energy just waiting for someone to take it up. The threads snaked, twisted, and flickered like bolts of lightning that hung in the sky rather than disappearing. The clouds rolled and churned, and Loki felt his stomach churn with them. The overall effect was of a silent storm, containing neither thunder nor hope of rain.

The seidr was beautiful, but it was pulling Loki under; Mimir had warned him about that, many times. Looking too long at such energies could loosen the anchors of one's mind, because thought was a form of energy all its own, housed within a material form. Attuning to seidr too closely could pull a soul right out of its body if one wasn't careful. Loki needed to find the earth, somewhere past the pain and the nausea, something concrete.

No. No, the pain _was_ something concrete. It was awful, but it was attached to his body. He could follow it back. It pulsed, behind his eyes, throbbed… his heart. He could follow his heartbeat, except that finding his heart brought his awareness toward his own, personal reservoir of seidr. It was deep, vast as a sea, and anything but calm now, the golden-green energy seeming to boil as he looked at it.

Bad idea.

With an effort, Loki pulled away, and as if from a distance felt his body writhe, his back arching, his arms and legs twisting without his volition. Pain slashed through him as he moved, bright bursts of it behind his eyelids, mingling with the seidr because seidr was connected to everything, there was a type of seidr associated with every form of energy and pain was its own energy just as thought was, and he heard himself whimper, overwhelmed.

Loki's stomach heaved, and he could taste bile, filling his mouth and burning inside his nose. He opened his eyes wide but could see nothing, choking and drowning in seidr and vomit both.

Hands were touching him, and it was agony on his oversensitized skin, but they were turning him and he understood that they needed to; the vomit was spilling out of his mouth and he could breathe again, but the motion and the agony it brought still made him retch, over and over until he thought there must be nothing left inside him.

A wash of cool blue seidr swept over him like a wave, pushing aside the rest of the maelstrom, and Loki reached for it desperately, willing it to stay, clinging to it as it receded. Distantly, he heard someone exclaim, but the blue remained, and Loki sighed in relief, wrung out and limp.

For a time, Loki simply lay there, breathing, twitching with aftershocks as his own seidr slowly calmed. All around him was the cool blue, soothing and serene, with tendrils of his own green-gold shot through it. It wasn't quite the color of Mimir's blue-white, but it reminded him enough of their joint meditations that he was able to calm, and pull back, little by little.

He opened his eyes eventually, and saw a blurry face peering at his own, but couldn't make out who it was. The blue wave of seidr was still there, overlaying everything, but no worse now than Loki had experienced in the past, and Loki allowed himself to let the energy go. It would take time, but he knew now that he would be safe, would not drift away on the tide of seidr surrounding him.

His breathing deepened and evened out, and Loki slept.

* * *

 

Everything ached, when next Loki woke. The pain he'd felt before was much diminished, no longer unbearable, but still no minor thing. He was still nauseous, too; Loki hadn't had a hangover this bad since the elves had introduced him to some of their sacred hallucinogens, and that had been… Loki wasn't sure how long ago that had been, because it hurt to think.

He swallowed, his mouth gone dry, and grimaced as he tasted stale vomit. It was almost enough to make him gag all over again, and he moaned, thoroughly miserable.

"Loki?"

He recognized Thor's voice, and even recognized that he was trying to keep his voice down, but it felt like Loki could perceive the very _air_ vibrating against his skin. And it _hurt_ , and he flinched, and that hurt too, and he moaned again.

Seidr still twirled and seethed at the edges of his vision, but he kept himself from being drawn into its flow. The energies were still there, like a fog blurring his senses, but he no longer felt quite like he was going to fall into the sky and disappear.

With an effort, Loki managed to make his fingers twitch, and Thor—it had to be Thor—squeezed his hand again. That helped; he could feel his fingers, and from there he could feel his body, even though it ached fiercely. The sensation was unpleasant, but anchoring, and he needed that right now.

Something scraped across Loki's forehead, and he tried to jerk away from it, but then the sensation of cold sank in and he realized it was only a wet cloth. He could smell the soothing herbs that Asgard's healers used, soaked into the cloth, and he breathed deeply, sighing as they began to take effect.

Loki lay there, just breathing, letting the scent of the herbs work through him. It felt like forever, but gradually the nausea faded; the pain of his headache began to ease, until Loki felt like he might be capable of opening his eyes.

He took a deep breath, trying to brace himself, and was startled by the ache in the muscles across his chest. Everything felt bruised and stiff.

Still, Thor was waiting; Loki opened his eyes, carefully, just in case the light was too bright, but there was only a single candle casting its glow across the room. Golden tendrils of seidr flickered around it in a spiral until Loki managed to blink them away.

It took a moment to focus, the random flow of seidr clouding his vision as he tried to look only at the real world. There was Thor, sitting at his bedside. He crackled blue-white to Loki's inner sight, like leashed lightning, and Loki blinked at him, just taking in the novelty of the imagery. Beside him was Frigga, with a serene amber reservoir and eyes that glowed gold.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, and she smiled, tendrils of energy uncurling in wisps and coiling about his own energy.

This must be what it was like to be a witch, Loki thought. All these external sources of energy. There was a crystal sitting on the table next to the candle, decorative, but it gave off its own faint seidr, and Loki knew just by looking that if he were to shift the candle by about an inch, the two objects would start to resonate with one another. It was fascinating, and he would have to look into exploring it further sometime, to see what he could learn.

"Loki?" But not now, however; Thor was staring at him as if he'd gone a little mad, and with his awareness altered as much as it was, that was possibly a little true. "Are you well?"

"I shall be," he replied. "In time." His throat was very dry; Loki swallowed again, and again tasted the inside of his mouth. "Is there water?"

Frigga leaned forward and passed him a cup; Loki was able to hold it, but his hand shook, and it took Thor's assistance to help him sit up long enough to drink. His brother's hands felt hot, and scratchy were they pressed Loki's tunic against his skin. Loki was only able to drink about half the cup before his stomach warned him not to continue; he handed the cup back, and allowed Thor to lay him back down.

"What happened to you?" asked Thor.

"I fell in," he said.

"Into what?" Thor was shaking his head in confusion, and trying to keep his eyes focused on him made Loki's head hurt more.

"Into the seidr, my son," said Frigga. "Loki was able to break the enchantment upon him by shifting his awareness. It is something similar to what you do during the height of battle."

The enchantment. Vanaheim.

Loki rolled his head on his pillow, wincing as stiff muscles pulled in his neck. "Were we successful?"

Thor's face fell, and Loki knew the answer even before he spoke. "No. I failed F—failed you."

Loki closed his eyes, but that hurt too, so he opened them again after only a moment. "How?"

Thor opened his mouth to speak, but his mother beat him to it. "What do you remember?" she asked.

Thinking hurt, too, but Loki breathed deep, inhaling the scent of the herbs in the cloth on his forehead. "There was a sorcerer. He, or she, hid the enemy camp with illusions. They were able to attack us while we stood there, like blind fools."

Thor hung his head, but neither he nor Frigga spoke.

"Why did not Heimdall tell us of the sorcerer's presence?" asked Loki. He frowned, then hissed through his teeth as the motion made his headache flare. "Nngh."

"What ails you, brother?" asked Thor.

"Everything hurts," said Loki. "Sensitive. I would swear I could feel your breath on my skin, even from here, and it stings."

"I could try to breathe less." Thor tried a half-smile, but the worry on his face kept it from being believable. Loki waved it off.

"There was a spell," said Loki; "I remember I could not breathe, but why does everything hurt now?"

"Could it be a magical backlash from overexerting yourself?" asked Frigga.

"I… don't think so," said Loki. "The attack was strong, but not that strong. I would have been able to break it sooner, but the Bifrost disrupted everything."

"You went rigid after you were struck," offered Thor. "Stiff as a plank."

"Perhaps that is it," said Frigga. "Your muscles were strained by the exertion forced onto them by the spell."

"Perhaps." Loki closed his eyes and tried to feel if any part of him was actually wounded. "And after?"

Thor's hand clenched on Loki's, until he hissed again and tried to pull away. "You fell. I got you to safety. The men retreated, but many had already fallen by then. I thought—I had thought you dead, brother." Thor brought his free hand up to massage his forehead. "We won free of them, and Heimdall brought us home."

"All of us?"

"All the survivors. Of the dead… I know not. Most of them, I think."

"You don't know?" Loki made to sit up, but the pain ripped through his head and he fell back, moaning and dragging the damp cloth down to press against his eyes.

"Brother?" Thor's voice was pitched high with worry, and Loki tried to turn away from it before it could stab into his ears any further.

"Leave him be, Thor," said Frigga. Unlike his brother, her voice was blessedly soft and soothing. "He is unwell from his exertions. I know you are old enough to have had a hangover before."

"I—yes, but what does that have to do—"

"Loki overexerted his magic. He will recover soon enough, but for now loud noises and strong stimuli pain him."

"Is… is there anything I can do?"

"Just leave me to rest, brother," said Loki faintly. The thought of falling back to sleep for a few years definitely had its appeal right now. He let the hand holding the cloth relax and drop to his side.

He heard the sound of liquid pouring into a cup. "Drink, my son," said Frigga, and then something touched his lips, making him flinch again.

The taste was medicinal, both bracing and soothing at the same time, and helped to clear the sensation of impending vomit from Loki's tongue and throat. He drank it all, in small sips, and sighed when it was gone.

"We will speak later," he said, finally dragging the cloth away and prying his eyes open again to look at his brother. Thor's hangdog expression made him appear absolutely wretched, but Loki simply did not have the energy to deal with him right now.

"All right, brother," said Thor. "If I can."

Loki frowned, then stopped as it aggravated his headache yet again. "If you can?"

"Father has arranged a punishment for me. For my failure."

"…I see." That reminded him of something else Thor had said. "You got me to safety?"

"Of course! You are my _brother_. I could never—"

"That isn't what I meant," said Loki. "You took me to safety… you, yourself?"

"Aye."

"You did not order someone else to do it?" Thor looked away, and said nothing. Loki's eyes widened. "You abandoned your post?" Still Thor would not look at him. "Abandoned your _men_?"

"Father has already lectured me," said Thor, "I do not need you to do it also." The haze of seidr covering everything stirred, the lightning in Thor's veins crackling in agitation.

"Lectured—Thor, how could you—if it were any other commander, he would have been publicly flogged. Possibly _executed._ How could you _do_ that?"

"I saw you fall!" cried Thor, and Loki winced at the sudden volume. "I saw you fall," he repeated, more softly. "And I couldn't—everything _stopped_ , Loki, I couldn't think of anything except saving you. I know I failed, all right? There are men dead now because of me, and as Father said, yes, they may be in Valhalla now, but that is little comfort to their wives and children. Or their parents, for the younger ones. I failed, but—but everything I did, I did it because of you."

Because of him.

The walls around them trembled as Loki pushed himself up with trembling arms and sat, ignoring the pain and the nausea as disbelief and then outrage filled him. Frigga sat back, her eyes growing wide, and the seidr in the room swirled and rippled as if a sudden wind had gusted across an open meadow.

"Because of _me_ ," he said incredulously. "You have the gall to sit there and blame _me_ for _your_ decision to abandon your post and leave men to _die_. Somehow that is _my_ fault?"

"No, Loki, that's not what I meant!"

"I do not care what you meant. People died because of _you,_ and you have the nerve to sit there and say that the things you did were because of me?"

"You fell, and I thought you dead!"

"Yes. _You_ thought. Not me. _You_ decided, not me. It was _your_ idea to attack by day, and to refuse to listen to me when I told you it was a stupid idea. You endangered your men and then you _left them behind_ to tend to me, and now they are dead—how many of them are dead, Thor?"

"…about half," said his brother, miserably.

"And you endangered _my father_ with this reckless plan of yours, too. Does he yet live? Do we know?"

"Heimdall says he remains imprisoned," said Frigga softly. "He lives."

"For now," said Loki. His headache stabbed behind his eyes, the nausea returning with a vengeance, and so he lay back down. "You endangered the mission out of _sentiment_ , brother. I tried to warn you it was a bad plan and you would not listen. You were so convinced that _your_ father was testing you, that you allowed your own reckless stupidity to endanger _mine_. And then you could not even follow through to reach your objective."

"Loki—"

"Don't. I don't imagine that if Odin had been the captive, you would have done the same thing."

"Of what do you accuse me?"

"I?" Loki scoffed tiredly. "Nothing at all, Thor. Except perhaps being more interested in the glory of battle than in accomplishing your goal for this mission."

"You were injured! I thought—"

"We were there to rescue Tyr," said Loki. "One soldier more or less, falling in battle, should not have made a difference."

"You are his son! Do you think he would be _grateful_ if we were to forsake _you_ in order to free _him_?"

"Maybe if you had, he would be here now to answer that question for you."

"Loki," said Frigga. "Enough. You do your recovery no favors, agitating yourself like this."

Loki sighed, and closed his eyes, shifting to a more comfortable spot on the bed. "What is the All-Father's plan now?" he asked, readjusting the damp cloth across his forehead.

It was Thor's turn to sigh, then, as he dragged his hands through his hair. "If he has a plan, he has not told me of it," he said after a moment. "All he would tell me is that my foolishness had undone his work; that because I did not see him doing anything, I assumed he was doing nothing."

"So now he is forced to wait for the furor and fuss to die down, before he may act again," said Loki. "Meaning my father, and Master Völund, must spend even longer in captivity, and suffer who knows what indignities or atrocities until they may be rescued." He sent an exhausted glare Thor's way, but had little energy for anything else. "Well done."

His brother looked nearly ready to weep. "Loki. I'm _sorry_."

"For once in your life," agreed Loki. "Too bad being sorry does nothing for the people who died, nor for those who continue to suffer."

"Loki," Frigga admonished him.

"No," said Loki. "Do not ask me to excuse or overlook this, Mother. Do not ask me to simply forgive as if his error were merely a spilled glass of wine in my chambers. This is my father's _life,_ and it may have been further endangered by all that Thor has done."

"I know that, brother. Truly, I do." He wiped at damp eyes and looked away. "And Father has made certain I will not forget the lesson. I will bear his punishment as best I can… but what I cannot bear is the thought that I might have lost my brother's respect as well as the lives of my men."

Loki sighed, putting one hand to his aching chest as his eyes fell shut. "I do not say I will never forgive, brother. Only that I cannot do so yet."

There was silence for a moment, and then, "Come, Thor," said Frigga. Loki heard the rustle of soft fabrics as she rose to her feet. "Your brother requires rest."

"Yes, Mother." Thor gave Loki's hand one last squeeze before letting go and standing.

"And Loki…"

"Yes, Mother?"

"All will be well in the end." She caressed his face with one soft hand, and he sighed into the touch. "Neither you nor General Tyr will come away from this tribulation quite the same as you were. But you will come away from it."

Loki opened his eyes, searching hers. "You have seen it?"

She smiled. "Come. You know I cannot speak of such things."

"You have before."

But Frigga only winked, and bent low to kiss his forehead, and turned away.


	10. Tyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr is told Loki was killed in the battle. After his reaction to this news, he is punished. Warning: graphic violence.

Tyr struggled against his bonds with such focused intent that he did not at first register the call from the Aesir to retreat. It made sense that they would; one of the princes was down, and someone had called Loki's name. Even so, Tyr could not help the stab of desperation he felt, knowing that they were abandoning him here to save their own.

Still, it was for Loki. Loki was out there, hurt. Tyr would give up a very great deal for his sake, including his freedom for the time being, if he had to. He stopped fighting against the chains, catching his breath as blood trickled down his arms and sides, both from his wrists where the shackles had rubbed them raw, and from the open wounds where the sorcerer had repeatedly stabbed him.

It grew quiet, except for the moans of the wounded; then Tyr heard an angry growl that quickly grew to a roar.

"How many!" Tyr recognized Kaetilfast, sounding beside himself with rage. "How many of ours?" Someone answered him, too low for Tyr to hear. "Then _find out_!"

Jogging footsteps faded into the distance, and Tyr listened to the familiar sounds of a battle's aftermath: the cries of the injured, the movement of battlefield healers, officers moving to and fro with reports to their commander.

Less familiar was the crunch of Kaetilfast's boots as he stalked into the cave. "I suppose you thought they would succeed, hm?" said the other man, anger making his reddened cheeks even brighter in the dim light. "Thought they'd slaughter us and carry your sorry ass out of here, back to golden Asgard?"

"Whether they did today or not is irrelevant," said Tyr. "They'll defeat you eventually."

Kaetilfast snorted in derision. "We both know that's not true," he said. "All-Father won't want to stir up trouble here on Vanaheim. Won't want to poke the hornet's nest full of pirates and marauders that make up this cesspool of a realm. My guess is we've seen the last of him for a good long while."

He was right, but Tyr didn't need to admit that. "What makes you think the strategy for dealing with Vanaheim hasn't changed since you left?"

"Since I was thrown out, you mean?"

"No one exiled you from Asgard, Kaetilfast; you did that on your own."

"After you threw me out of the army!" He backhanded Tyr, and the general tasted blood. "Protecting that effeminate little prince who thought he was something special."

Tyr just smiled. Loki _was_ something special, and didn't need anyone to say so to make it true. Also, if Kaetilfast had recognized the prince, then this was an obvious bait to get Tyr to ask how he'd fared in the battle, allowing the other man to taunt him by holding the information out of reach. Tyr was not a begging man, and would not ask after Loki's health now, just so a disgraced former soldier could mock him for it.

Kaetilfast's sneer turned into a scowl, at the look on Tyr's face, and he backhanded him again. Then again… and then proceeded to beat Tyr bloody for the third time in as many days. He did not stop until Tyr was nearly unconscious, and at least one of his ribs had been cracked; Tyr suspected that he only stopped then because his arm was getting tired, or because he yet needed Tyr alive, or because Tyr himself was no longer in a state to be entertaining while Kaetilfast worked him over.

It was of no import; Odin had gotten Loki out of there, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

 

Days passed; by day, Kaetilfast and his men prepared their dead for disposal, and by night Kaetilfast would come and beat Tyr. A guard brought him a cup of water once or twice each day, and held it for him to drink, but no one brought any food. Once or twice each day, another guard would bring a bucket and shove it between Tyr's legs while he knelt, and he could relieve himself without losing even more of his dignity than he already had. Of course, no one had wanted to deal with fastening and unfastening Tyr's trousers for him, so they'd simply cut his clothing open below the waist so that everything hung out, leaving him in a tattered, bloodied undershirt, ruined trousers, and a pair of boots that was beginning to rot after so long in the water of the cavern.

Tyr still worked to free himself from his shackles, any time that he was left alone, but the fatigue he'd predicted had already set in, and it became harder and harder to struggle against the heavy chain. The nightly beatings certainly didn't help. It was clear that Kaetilfast was holding back, though, or Tyr would have been dead by now; he could only assume that the other man needed him alive, whether it was for the sadistic pleasure of it, or because he yet feared angering Odin.

And then, on the evening of the third or fourth day, Vekel came in, looking satisfied with himself. After his work setting the ambush for the Aesir, he'd been allowed to roam the camp freely, although he'd not been permitted to help with the work of preparing the dead. Apparently no one trusted the sorcerer to behave appropriately around corpses.

"I have found a thing, my lord," he said.

Kaetilfast paused his beating and looked over his shoulder. "And why should I care, little nithing?"

"You accused me of failing in my task," said Vekel. "You said I should hide the camp, and then kill their seidmadr." Tyr went still at that, holding his breath. "You said I had failed, because he was able to reveal us to their warriors. But I have followed the path they took to retreat, and I found this."

Kaetilfast turned and stalked toward him, and Tyr did not miss the way Vekel backed away, cringing, but Kaetilfast only held out one hand to see whatever it was that Vekel had brought. Their backs were to him, and Tyr could not make it out.

"Shit," said Kaetilfast, quietly at first, then louder. " _Shit_. The seidmadr was the second prince?" He started to pace, back and forth, his silhouette cutting the light that made it past the cave's entrance. "I thought I'd heard them call his name." He was quiet for a long moment, then said, "We'll need to relocate. Notify the men. I don't want us near the Bifrost for them to slaughter once Odin bestirs himself from that great chair of his."

"But I did well, yes?" asked Vekel, swaying closer.

Kaetilfast struck him, and the sorcerer dropped with a little cry. "Well? You think you did well?" The Aesir turned his back, pacing more quickly now. "I told you to kill the seidmadr, and you got the second prince of Asgard. What do you think?"

Tyr's breath caught. He felt cold all over.

"I know not whether he was the prince, my lord," Vekel was whining, "but I do know seidr when I smell it. I only killed the one you asked me to."

Kaetilfast growled wordlessly and came stomping back to Tyr. "You," he said with a snarl on his face. "You took the prince as your foster. Did he have magic or not?"

Tyr fought for calm, and did his best to leave his fear out of his voice. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because _this_ ," he said, shoving a piece of armor under his nose, "was found where your men gathered after they fled the field like cowards."

It was Loki's breastplate, the insignia unmistakable, but the edges of it were blackened with soot. Kaetilfast turned it over, and he could see that the entire lining was charred and still stank of burnt wool; the leather straps were blackened and crumbling.

"There was no body," said Tyr. His lips felt numb; Kaetilfast got a good look at his face and started to laugh harshly.

"Aww, did you still care for the boy?" he asked. "I wonder that he was even old enough to enter battle. Maybe they only brought him along for his magic. Maybe he still cared for _you,_ and begged to be allowed to come. Which do you think it was?"

And Tyr knew, _knew,_ that Kaetilfast was only trying to upset him, to get under his skin as another form of torment. He knew this down to his bones. And yet, he was exhausted, in pain, half-starved already, and he could still smell the burnt lining of the breastplate as Kaetilfast waved it in front of him. Could still hear the cry, " _Loki!"_ from the battle a few days prior. His breath came faster, then faster still, as tears welled up in his eyes.

"Oh! You _do_ still care. And now you're telling yourself that the Aesir didn't leave his corpse behind, so there's a chance he's still alive. Isn't that right?" Kaetilfast grinned, a harsh, ugly thing, with his missing tooth making him look like a hungry beast. "But they took all their dead with them. We checked. And this… well. Looks to me like Vekel cooked him where he stood."

Tyr roared, and thrashed in his chains, while Kaetilfast laughed at him.

He stopped laughing when the spike holding Tyr's right wrist shackle came free of the rock and struck him across the face.

Tyr surged to his feet, and with a mighty heave, he broke the chain on his other manacle. His vision was blurry with tears, and hazed red with rage; the rock was slippery with water and he nearly fell, staggering forward, but he threw a punch that knocked Kaetilfast clean off his feet. And then another one, as he dropped back down and put the full force of his weight and gravity behind it, nearly knocking the other man unconscious.

Kaetilfast cried out, and so did Vekel, and in a moment the cave was filled with men all fighting to reach them. Tyr took the spike in his right hand and lifted it high, hoping to stab Kaetilfast in the skull and _end him_ if it was the last thing he did. The Vanir could kill him, he wouldn't care, if only Kaetilfast were dead by his side.

Hands grasped his arms and tried to force him down, since he was already on his knees, but Tyr shoved upward, grabbed the first man within reach, and broke his neck. The second one got his spike to the heart, and the third was struck in the throat. Tyr spun and roared, lost to the berserker rage, and killed another without even seeing his face. Loki was dead, and nothing else mattered but avenging him on as many of these scum as possible before Tyr was able to join him in Valhalla.

Someone swung a blade, and sparks flew as Tyr caught it on his manacle. He got a shoulder into his opponent's gut and ran him into the wall of the cave, hearing the breath whoosh out and the crack of his head against the stone. With a hand on the man's face, he smashed it back again and again until the stone behind him was coated in red gore.

For all Tyr's rage, though, he was still exhausted and weakened by hunger and thirst, and the next time the Vanir piled onto him, they were able to bring him down and keep him there, no matter how he struggled. Finally someone kicked him in the back of the neck and he went limp, everything tingling and numb.

"Get him outside," came Kaetilfast's voice, barely recognizable with pain and anger. The Vanir hauled Tyr to his feet, and he could see that his blow had laid open the other man's cheek to the bone. Blood sheeted down the side of his face; Tyr bared his teeth ferociously and lunged for him again, but was held back.

Tyr fought them every step of the way, but his strength had been spent; they easily got him out of the cave and into the clearing beside their cook fire, where they threw him to the ground and held him by simple expedient of kneeling on his head and shoulders.

"Five more of my men dead," said Kaetilfast, his voice ragged and raw. "The only reason you're still alive is because I want to go back to Nidhud. And I can't do that till I ransom you. But I'll be damned if I leave you unpunished for what you just did."

He drew his sword, knelt, and took hold of the spike chained to Tyr's right wrist. With a yank, Tyr's arm was pulled out straight, away from his body and the pressing mass of Vanir soldiers.

"Asgard can have you back once I'm finished with you," said Kaetilfast. "But we'll see what kind of warrior you'll be without _this_ —"

And with a swift downward stroke, he took Tyr's hand, just above the wrist.

Tyr's world was nothing but pain for a white hot eternity, and he screamed until he ran out of breath. Then someone laid the fire poker across the stump, and the agony became an exquisite thing, surpassing belief and imagination.

He scream became a shriek, and he passed out.

* * *

 

"That should do him," said Kaetilfast as he rose to his feet. He leaned over Tyr's limp body and cleaned his blade on the other man's ragged shirt, then toed the severed hand with his boot, watching as it flopped like a dead creature. Well, he supposed, that was what it was now. The thought curled one corner of his mouth in a little sneering smile, but that woke the pain in his cheek again from where he'd been hit by the spike they'd hammered into the rock. "See that he doesn't bleed to death," he said, and turned his back to the scene. "You," he pointed, then indicated his face with a jerk of his head. "Come take a look at this."

A gasp behind him had him turning back and lifting his blade, but it was only Vekel, crouched down and fondling the hand where it lay in the dirt. "Oh," he breathed. His eyes rolled up in his head, and Kaetilfast half-expected the disgusting creature to start humping the thing. "Oh."

Kaetilfast rolled his eyes and left him be. The other men were already seeing to the bodies of their companions; Kaetilfast did not miss the glares and sidelong looks they sent his way, when they thought he could not see. If he didn't pull something out of this mess soon, he'd have a mutiny on his hands, or wake to find himself left behind while they went back to Nidhud without him. It might not seem as if it would be much hardship if they left him here, with a thriving coastal town on the other side of the island, but once word reached Nidhud, he'd issue a decree, and Kaetilfast would be lucky if anyone ever hired him again. And that was the more pleasant of the possibilities he saw before him right now.

He sat in silence and let the troop's medic stitch his face back together, trying not to wince and ruin the man's work. Around him, the other warriors saw to their tasks, but they spoke little; Kaetilfast couldn't really blame them, even though he knew it was a bad sign.

"I have seen a thing," said Vekel into the silence, some minutes later. He looked like he'd just woken up from a nightmare, disheveled and winded.

The sorcerer's visions were only right about three quarters of the time, but they were still worth paying attention to. "Out with it."

"Defeat," said Vekel. "Death." He blinked rapidly, staring down at Tyr's severed hand, held in his own. "We cannot keep him alive."

"We're not killing him," said Kaetilfast. "You heard Nidhud."

"I did," said Vekel. He shook his head, then shuddered. "As long as he lives, defeat will dog your steps, Kaetilfast of Asgard."

"I'm not _of_ Asgard any longer," he retorted. "And as long as the general lives, there's a chance to ransom him back to his people. We get the gold, we go back to Nidhud, all is well." He squinted at the grisly token Vekel held. "In fact, we'll send that to Asgard as incentive."

"I would not do that if I were you, my lord," said Vekel. Then he giggled, and held the hand up to his cheek as if it were a beloved pet.

"Well, you're not me, are you, little nithing?"

"Then what do you plan to do?"

"I already told you. We're not going to stay here within easy reach of Asgard. We'll break camp and make sail, half a day's travel or less, just to get off this damned island and make it harder for them to send an army after us."

"Any witch with a drop of seidr will be able to touch this hand and know where the general is being held," said Vekel. "Better to kill him and be done with it."

"I'm not killing him, so shut your mouth about it, or I'll shut it for you."

"You wish to take us away from Asgard's forces, my lord," argued Vekel. "This hand is a beacon that will guide them right to us, which any völva will be able to make use of."

Kaetilfast scowled. "But you have magic," he said. "I'm betting that for every move there's a countermove, just like in warfare. Tell me you _can't_ cover our tracks on that thing."

Vekel cringed, and looked away, and brought his long-nailed fingers up under his chin the way he always did.

"Answer the question," said Kaetilfast.

"You did not ask a—"

Kaetilfast picked up a stick and threw it at him. "Don't play games with me, you disgusting creature. Can you do it or not?"

"It… there may be a way," said the sorcerer. " _He_ will need to be awake for it. He needs to watch. It will have no effect if he does not see it happen."

Kaetilfast wasn't sure he wanted to know what Vekel had in mind. "See that it is done," he said, and walked away.

"My lord." Kaetilfast turned to see the medic watching him. "What do you wish done with the prisoner?"

"As I said before, see that he doesn't die." Kaetilfast sucked on his teeth, studying Tyr's unconscious form while he thought. "Stick him in Vekel's cage," he said finally. "We'll be moving soon enough. He'll be easier to transport in that. But take his boots before you put him inside. Tyr is a wily old dog; you saw what he did in the cave, and we thought he was chained up tight. I don't want him kicking the damned thing open while we sleep."


	11. Suffering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaetilfast relocates his camp, and comes up with new torments for Tyr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible person. Please don't hate me. We return to Loki's POV in the next chapter.

Tyr woke, if it could be called that, to a world centered on his right wrist. The pain there was beyond belief, searing and throbbing up his arm, a band of fire where there had been a shackle… and beyond it, nothing. He could not feel his fingers anymore, at all; there was nothing there, not palm or knuckles or thumb or fingertips. It was all gone.

Memory came back, and horror at what had been done, and despair at why it had happened.

They'd taken his hand.

Loki was dead.

His hand was gone.

Loki was _dead_.

Tyr groaned, biting back a scream as he shifted and the movement jostled the wound, lying there on the jungle floor. He wanted to cradle his arm close, squeeze it, try to rub the pain out, and at the same time he didn't want to touch. Didn't even really want to look, knowing what he would see. Tyr was a warrior; he'd been wounded before, and seen his fair share of ugly injuries. Mutilation was part of his way of life, really; but, as he'd told his men and as his teachers had told him, millennia past: it was always different when it happened to you.

Would he heal? Probably. Assuming Kaetilfast kept him alive that long, and had a vested interest in not allowing him to succumb to infection or blood loss or shock. Were he on Asgard, his hand could theoretically have been restored, if he could have made it to a healer quickly enough. Here, on Vanaheim, he would have to settle for a scarred stump, and a tale to tell. He would probably even get used to it, someday, assuming he lived that long.

But that hardly mattered to him, right now. Loki was dead, and had died because of him. Had come to Vanaheim, because of him. To whom would Tyr tell this tale of his? The servants at Vingólf? The younger recruits at the barracks? And that assumed he ever saw Asgard again; after getting Loki killed in battle here, Tyr was not at all certain he would ever lay eyes on Odin again.

He was not certain he wanted to, in any case.

Loki was dead.

Hands on his shoulders forced Tyr to open his eyes; they lifted him to his knees, and the shift in blood flow awoke new agony in his wrist and arm. Everything else ached, as well, from repeated beatings and from being held in one position for so long by those damned shackles. He was too weak to hold back another groan.

His captors held Tyr's head up by the hair, and shook him when his eyes tried to drift shut. So there was something they wanted him to see; Tyr didn't care.

Night had fallen, but it had been late afternoon or early evening when he'd first broken free of his chains (when they'd told him Loki was dead). The cook fire was in front of him, and across from him squatted Vekel, with a disturbing grin on his face and…

…and Tyr's severed hand, clutched in his own.

Tyr swallowed bile, and tried to look away, but the guard holding his head shook him again. Ah. Apparently it was time for the Vanir to torment their prisoner.

So he watched as Vekel giggled and murmured, and licked at the remains of Tyr's hand; his wrist twinged as he tensed muscles, reflexively trying to pull his hand away in disgust, and new pain shot up his arm. He watched as the sorcerer, mumbling constantly in a singsong chant, painted his hand—what used to be his hand—with something thick that stank of excrement, then scratched runes into the paste with a twig that he snapped off from the nearby firewood. Tyr's skin crawled, as if he were trying still to feel something that was no longer there for him to feel.

Finally, Vekel stared straight at Tyr, his eyes gleaming in the firelight, and pitched the hand into the fire.

"This isn't yours anymore," said the sorcerer aloud. They were the first words Tyr had been able to understand from him for the past several minutes. "It's mine. My toy. I like it."

The smell of cooking meat reached Tyr's nose, along with the smell of burning shit, and he gagged. That had been his flesh. His hand. What was Vekel's purpose? What sort of spell was he hoping to wreak, here?

Tyr didn't care, too disgusted to wonder as his stomach heaved. Before he could vomit, however, his captors hauled him to his feet; he was lightheaded with blood loss and pain, and nearly fell, but they got him stumbling in the direction they wanted, away from the fire and back toward the cave. Perhaps they had replaced the shackles while he'd been unconscious.

But no; just outside the cave entrance, he saw the cage that Vekel had slept in, that first night, and its door was standing open.

He would have struggled, probably should have tried, but he was still weakened from his ordeal, and in any case, Loki was dead. He could not find it in him to fight them at all right now, not even to avenge his son. He barely managed to keep his feet long enough to make it to the cage so that they wouldn't have to drag him; Tyr had no illusions that his captors were at all interested in alleviating his suffering. He took it as a kindness that they only pushed him inside rather than throwing him, because he would have tried to catch himself, and that would have been agonizing.

They yanked his boots off his feet before closing the door and locking it. Tyr could not bring himself to care. His feet had been soaking for days, and before all this, he had begun to grow concerned at the possibility of foot rot. Warmth and exposure to air could do nothing but help his feet at this point. But it hardly mattered; his hand was still gone, and he could still smell it, burning in the fire.

Loki was still dead.

* * *

 

In the morning, the Vanir broke camp. Kaetilfast had some sneering words for him, but Tyr barely paid attention; there was nothing he could say that would harm Tyr now. He was given a cup of water, nowhere near enough, then they wheeled his cage down the jungle path to where a small ship waited. They secured him on the deck, in the sun, and Tyr shut his eyes and soaked up the warmth as they made ready to sail.

A few hours later, the warmth had become damp, sweltering heat that made the ruins of Tyr's shirt stick to his skin, and the remaining shackle on his left wrist start to burn. He was certain he'd already sweated out the cup of water they'd given him that morning, but at this point he didn't care. He passed in and out of consciousness, and only barely bothered to notice when the ship came to a new shore. This island had rocky cliffs and massive boulders, against which the surf crashed in thunderous torrents, and only the tiniest spit of sand where the ship's crew was able to throw down an anchor for them to disembark.

They hauled Tyr's cage ashore with much straining and cursing, trying to keep the wheels from getting stuck in the sand every other foot. Tyr was jostled and had to cushion his head from banging into the bars with every step they took.

Perhaps the only blessing out of all this was that Vekel refused to go anywhere near him; although he sent leering, flirtatious looks Tyr's way, half the time those looks gave way to a fearful expression, and Vekel would turn away quickly, tangling his long-nailed fingers together up under his chin and finding someone else to pester. Perhaps it was the cage that bothered him; Tyr's curiosity was a distant thing in the back of his mind, an idle thought that did not go anywhere.

Loki was dead.

* * *

 

For two days, his cage sat in the sand at the border of the jungle, just a little ways from the Vanir camp. He could hear the voices of Kaetilfast's men sometimes at night, but for the most part the sound of the surf drowned them out, and he was left alone with his thoughts.

Loki was _dead._ His son, his bright boy, was gone forever. In the quiet of the night, when there was no one to see, he wept and mourned as best he could, singing an ancient lament with a voice that cracked and dissolved into tears.

Tyr had had nothing to eat now for close to a week, and as a result his healing had slowed down to something even slower than a mortal's. They'd wrapped his wounded wrist in a bandage, that first night while he'd been unconscious, but once he was in the cage they had never changed the dressing, so when it began to smell Tyr had simply pulled it off and cast it aside. The burns on the stump of his arm were hideous, blackened spots showing between shiny red blisters where they'd cauterized the wound. They'd done a poor job of it, though, and occasionally the stump would leak blood and clear fluid. And of course the pain had neither stopped nor begun to ease.

The cage itself was small; Tyr could neither stand nor stretch out to lie down in it. When he had the energy for it, Tyr found himself restless and almost desperate to escape, to run, simply to stretch his limbs to their fullest extent. He had heard, or read somewhere, that confinement as strict as this could make a man go mad after a time, and between the crashing of the surf and his restlessness, he was beginning to believe it was true.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, the restlessness was shortlived; between the pain of his injuries, his hunger, and his growing thirst, he was more often lethargic and half-conscious than anything. He was burned by the sun by day, and the bars of the cage heated until he could not bear to lean against them, and by night he shivered in the chill damp and the darkness.

The stars were spectacular, and Tyr found himself studying them sometimes and wondering which one was Loki's… and painfully regretting that he had been unable to attend his own son's funeral.

If Kaetilfast had wanted to break Tyr, he had succeeded.

* * *

 

Several days passed before Kaetilfast bothered to walk up to Tyr's cage; the first person to speak to him since they'd come ashore, although Tyr was sure they'd had a guard posted to keep an eye on him all along, and only the second person he'd laid eyes on apart from the guard who brought him his water each day.

"Well, don't you look a sorry sight," said the man.

Looking at him, with his reddened nose and yellowed teeth, with his smug demeanor and cruel smile, Tyr felt the embers of his hate begin to rekindle. He did not bother to speak, saving his energy.

"We're still waiting to hear word from Odin," said Kaetilfast. "I'm beginning to think he doesn't want you back, after getting the second prince killed like you did."

Tyr licked cracked, sunburned lips. "And if you don't ransom me, Nidhud won't want you."

As always, Kaetilfast rose to Tyr's taunts. He had not seemed to realize yet that there was no longer any way for him to get under Tyr's skin, now that Loki was dead. "I think it's time we moved that cage to a better spot," he spat, changing from a smile to a sneer in an instant. He pulled a necklace out from under his shirt, and Tyr saw a little key dangling from the end of the chain. With a wrenching twist, he unlocked the cage door and yanked it open. "Out."

Kaetilfast might think him cowed and obedient, but Tyr was desperate enough to escape that tiny cell that he shuffled weakly forward on his knees, using his good hand to keep his balance as he clambered down. The world spun as he got his feet under him, and he was forced to lean against the cage rather than collapse completely onto the hot sand. Even so, it felt good to stretch his legs, and he stood as tall as he could.

"On your knees, wretch," said Kaetilfast, and cuffed him on the side of the head. He gave the blow hardly any force at all, but it was still enough to drop Tyr in his weakened state; the sand burned his feet and forearm where he'd managed to catch himself, the stump of his injury curled in close to his stomach to protect it.

Behind him, some of Kaetilfast's men were hoisting the cage up and hauling it off toward the cliff that bordered the beach; Tyr barely had attention to pay to them, however, as Kaetilfast was yanking his head up by the hair and forcing Tyr to meet his gaze.

"You should never have come to Vanaheim," he was saying. "None of this would have had to happen if you had just _stayed home_ where you belonged. You would still have your hand. The second prince would still be alive if it weren't for you. I would still be with Nidhud if it weren't for you… but you just have to come along and ruin me at every chance you get, don't you? You just have to come along and _take_ whatever I've managed to earn for myself."

"An Aesir warrior takes responsibility for his own actions," said Tyr. It was one of the precepts drilled into recruits from almost day one, part of the litany that spelled out the honor of an Aesir warrior.

From the look of rage on Kaetilfast's face, he remembered it well. With a grunt, he shoved Tyr aside, and kicked him in the stomach when he fell to the sand. Tyr curled up as best he could, but had little energy left in him to fight with. The best he could do was protect his head, his vital organs, and the stump of his wrist, while Kaetilfast expressed his displeasure at his own inferiority.

Tyr was only semi-conscious by the time Kaetilfast ordered him hauled to his feet and bound to a tree, face-first.

He barely even felt the flogging that followed.

* * *

 

Tyr woke, sputtering, as someone poured water over his face and down his throat. He choked, and gulped thirstily, and blearily opened his eyes.

Vekel was squatting over him, looking at him with what almost seemed like compassion, except for the intent focus in his gaze, as if he were a child collecting insects and Tyr were an especially interesting find.

"We're all going to die," he said. "Kaetilfast, and all these others. They're going to die, because of you. I have seen it; death and defeat. You, I do not know about. I have not seen your fate. But I think you will die, too, just from the look of you."

Tyr said nothing. He was lying on his back and could feel sand gritting into the fresh whip cuts there. His head was pounding, and his wrist throbbed in time with it.

"I'm sorry I killed your son," said Vekel. "He was your son, wasn't he? The pretty seidmadr. I wanted to keep him, but Nidhud commanded me to obey Kaetilfast. If it had been up to me, I would have kept him, and he would be my friend now, and we would play together, and he would do everything I asked him to. But it was not up to me. And anyway, I did as I was told, and now I do not have to sleep in the cage. It's your cage, now."

Vekel took a long drink from his water skin, and Tyr found himself unable to look away, suddenly aware of just how parched with thirst he truly was.

"Do you want more?" asked Vekel, and Tyr nodded.

"Yes."

Vekel tilted his head, first one way, and then the other, and then too far, as his smile grew wide and mad once more. "No one ever asks me for anything. How nice!" He giggled, and rose to his feet, swaying as if he could hear music in the distance, too far for the rest of them to make out.

Tyr watched him saunter up to a guard and murmur something; the guard looked over his shoulder, and then two men came out of the jungle and stood over him.

"Up," said one.

Tyr struggled to sit up, but his flogged back felt like it was on fire, and he was still dizzy from thirst and sunburn and all the rest of it, and he fell back twice before they both leaned forward and hauled him to his feet. His legs buckled and he sagged in their grip, but they both only waited until he could get his balance and his feet under him once more.

They walked him up a steep path toward the cliffside, and then a few paces along the top, right at the edge. Tyr found himself distantly wondering if they were going to push him off and leave him to drown. Instead they stopped, and one of them began to tie a stout rope around Tyr's chest, under his arms, while the other began to climb down the cliff face. Tyr followed his path down, and what he saw at the bottom made his blood run cold.

They'd taken his cage and lowered it between two boulders, then wedged it into place with the door facing upward; the bottom and wheels faced into the cliff, leaving the open roof of the cage facing the sea. The sides of the cage were misshapen and bowed inward where it had been hammered in for a tight fit. At this moment, the pounding surf was several feet below the cage, but Vanaheim had two moons and tides that were difficult to predict. Tyr had no doubt that Kaetilfast had placed the cage where the waters would cover it, once the moons were in the right position.

It would be a slow, ignominious death, far from battle. Tyr had at least hoped he would see Loki again in Valhalla, but it seemed that Kaetilfast wanted to deny him even that.

He tried to back away, but the Vanir standing at his side stopped him with just a hand on his shoulder. "You will not die," he said, no doubt reading the thoughts from Tyr's expression. "Our commander needs you alive. To ransom to the All-Father."

Below them, the cage door squealed in protest as its door was forced open by the other Vanir guard. "I don't think Kaetilfast cares much about that anymore," said Tyr.

"No," said the Vanir. "He needs you alive. He has said this. But he dislikes you very much."

Tyr just stared at him, unable to muster up anything more than disbelief at the understatement. "You could say that."

"You cannot fight us," said the guard. "You must go down."

"There is no honor in what he does," said Tyr. "I was his commander once, as he is yours. It is why I threw him out of the army, when he lived on Asgard. There is no honor in this."

The guard looked away. "No," he agreed. "There is not. But we must obey him." He took a breath, seeming to steel himself against Tyr's impending struggle. "You will go down now."

And Tyr wanted to protest, wanted to fight, but it was true; he could barely stand up, much less walk on his own. Trying to overcome his captors was simply out of the question. All they needed to do was shove him and he'd fall over the edge of the cliff, and they'd stick him in the cage anyway. At least this way, they were offering to let him retain some of his dignity.

"May your ancestors forgive what you do," he said. The Vanir flinched, then glared at him.

Tyr dropped to his knees, and slipped over the edge, and allowed them to put him inside the cage.

The squeal as the door closed, and the click of the lock, sounded more final and absolute than any death-bell he'd ever heard.


	12. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Correspondence arrives from Vanaheim while Loki is recovering. He decides to do something about it, while Odin tries to dissuade him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reward for getting through the past two chapters, here is an extra long one for you with no torture in it. (Wow, that sounds like my standards are low.)

Golden light streamed in through the window of Loki's room, in the healing wing of the royal palace, dimmed by curtains that swayed in the breeze from the balcony. Sounds were muted by the curtains and by a thick carpet that the healers had brought in for the purpose. The space was serene, and incredibly boring. Loki had recovered enough that the nausea had completely dissipated, and his dizziness and headache were completely manageable… as long as he didn't actually do _anything_ except lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. He'd discovered that the pain behind his eyes got much worse whenever he tried to read any of the books that his mother had provided, with the best of intentions. If it were not for the visits from Frigga, Sigyn, Fandral, and Hoenir, Loki would have nothing to occupy his thoughts except worry for his father.

At least the healers allowed him out of bed, although he was certain they did so with a measure of sarcasm attached. He was a terrible patient, he knew, but he couldn't help the almost frantic desire to get up and _do something_ to help his father. The healers had tried to keep him in bed to no avail, until finally Eir had thrown up her hands and declared that if he was well enough to get out of bed at all without going cross-eyed and falling over, then he was well enough to get a little exercise, pacing the length of his room. After that, the healers were perfectly willing to let him overextend himself and end up on the floor, since it did him no real harm and, he presumed, they hoped it would make him a more cooperative patient when they tried to convince him he still needed time to recover.

It was the magical backlash from breaking that sorcerer's spell that had done the damage, they'd told him; the spell itself would have killed him if he hadn't managed to unravel it in time. Loki's efforts, however, had been similar to leaning with all his strength against a sturdy wall that suddenly gave way beneath him. The energy had needed to go somewhere, and while most of it had exploded outward, some had flooded back into his channels, resulting in a kind of seidr "concussion" and a hangover as bad as if he'd been working a deep ritual with the elves, for days on end.

They'd told him that he'd likely slept through the worst of the nausea and hangover aspect, for which he could only be grateful. Experiencing even one of those had been enough to last his entire lifetime.

"…and while the crowd was amazed, they all agreed that if the man could not be beheaded, they would have to find another way to execute him for his crimes. It was decided that he would be drowned, and so they sent him home to his family. 'Pay your respects,' they said to him, 'and return in the morning if you have any honor.' Well, naturally, the brother with the iron neck went home… but in his place came the brother who could stretch and stretch and stretch his legs."

Sigyn was his favorite visitor so far, after his mother, Loki decided. She had the most soothing voice, and was willing to read to him the stories that Frigga had brought, no matter how silly or inane they were.

"You are my favorite," said Loki, rolling his head on the pillow to look at her.

Sigyn smiled, and let him take her hand. "You are still addled," she replied. "Everyone knows that the queen is your favorite."

"Well. I suppose that is true."

"Which, that the queen is your favorite or that you are still addled?"

Loki chuckled, then winced as his headache was aggravated. "Both, I think." He sobered. "It is good that you are here. Have I thanked you for that?"

Sigyn leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. "You don't have to. I am just glad that you are well, or that you will be."

"I will be," said Loki. "But what of Father?"

She squeezed his hand, and reached up with her other to run her fingers through his hair. Loki closed his eyes and sighed into her touch. "I am sure the All-Father is doing everything he can."

"I wish I had your faith. Faithful Sigyn." He opened his eyes again. "Odin had reasons for delaying before, and they are only compounded now by our folly. I am almost certain that he has done nothing at all while he waits for things to settle on Vanaheim once more."

"But Tyr is his general," said Sigyn. Loki made to answer her, but she squeezed his hand again, and he stopped. "We've had this discussion a dozen times. Every time you bring it up, the only thing that happens is that you fret yourself into a state and end up in such pain you can barely see straight. Please. For me. Just for now, can you try not to worry?"

Loki sighed. "No?"

"Hm." Sigyn knelt beside his bed and rested her head on the pillow beside him, touching her nose to his cheek. "Well, it was worth a try."

* * *

 

Loki wasn't sure how much time they spent together that day; he was prone to dozing off in the middle of sentences if he was relaxed enough, but every time he opened his eyes again, Sigyn was still there. Faithful Sigyn, indeed. When he was awake, she read to him, or talked about the news from her family or Vingólf-town, or helped him keep his balance while he staggered back and forth in front of the open balcony. It was tempting to go out past the curtains, and sit in the sun, but he was still too sensitive to bright lights and loud noises for that to be an option.

As the light outside was just beginning to dim, Fandral poked his head in the door, knocking at the same time. "How do you fare?"

Loki struggled to sit up as Sigyn adjusted his pillows. "Well enough, considering."

"Good." There was a sober note to Fandral's voice that Loki hadn't noticed before, and he looked up, studying his friend's face. "A courier is here, from Vanaheim. The queen thought you might want to be present."

Loki swallowed. "Not the All-Father?"

"I didn't see him," said Fandral. "Perhaps he doesn't think you're ready to be out of bed."

"Because you're not," said Sigyn, but Loki was already throwing the covers aside. He shut his eyes against a wave of dizziness as his feet touched the floor, then conjured his clothing and boots. "Loki! I thought you weren't supposed to use magic yet."

"I need to be presentable, or the All-Father will never permit me into the throne room." Loki looked up at her, his expression softening at the clear worry in her eyes. "I promise not to use any more. Fandral, help me up?"

It took Fandral to lift him and Sigyn to help steady him, but they snuck out of the healing wing and made their way slowly to the throne room. The walk seemed to last an eternity, at Loki's slow pace, and he needed to stop twice to regain his equilibrium and keep the world from spinning past his ability to keep his feet.

"Loki, are you sure you want to this?" asked Fandral. "I know it's important to you, but couldn't I go in your place and report back to you?"

"You're not the prince," said Loki shortly, then winced as Fandral looked hurt. "I don't mean… you know I do not care about rank between us; you are my friend. But the All-Father _does_. And if he takes this courier's message privately, you would not be permitted to go with them."

"I know that, but…" Fandral reached up and wiped a bit of sweat off Loki's brow with his thumb. "I'm not at all certain you will be permitted, either. Forgive me for saying it, but you look terrible."

"I'm hoping that will be enough to sway the All-Father in my favor, actually," said Loki.

"You're mad," said Fandral, but he was shaking his head affectionately.

Loki smiled tiredly. "You knew that already."

* * *

 

If Frigga had indeed sent Fandral, she had done it with an impeccable sense of timing; Loki and his friends managed, despite their slow pace, to make it to the throne room just before the couriers were invited to speak.

They were an entire family, actually; a Vanir woman and a man who could only be her husband, given the way he hovered protectively near her, and a little girl tucked between them who couldn't have been past her first century. She still had a gap in her front teeth, and her hair was pulled back into three braids with little bells on the ends. The woman was carrying a wooden box with a carved lid, held shut with a simple clasp.

Loki took several deep breaths, then gently shrugged himself out of Fandral and Sigyn's grasp, and made his way to the dais. Odin looked sidelong at him, but said nothing, so Loki simply took his place as if he were expected, and tried to keep from swaying too obviously as the room occasionally dipped and spun.

The two adults knelt, and the little girl dropped to her knees a second later, leaning shyly against her parents. "All-Father," said the woman, "I am Drifa of Fourth Smoking Water Fleet, out of Narrow Gates Island, and these are my husband and daughter, Ullr and Fastvi. Our fleet have been couriers for the kings and queens of Vanaheim for generations; most recently, my own ship has been contracted to serve King Nidhud and his subordinates." Drifa indicated the box in her arms. "We were contacted by one of his subordinates most recently, the captain of his guard, and commanded to bring this to Asgard."

"What is in it?" asked Odin.

Drifa actually looked offended for a moment before schooling her expression. "As couriers of Vanaheim, All-Father, we are valued for our discretion and respect for the privacy of our clients' correspondence. We do not know what is in the box, and it would have been highly inappropriate of us to ask. Indeed, were we to do so, no one would ever hire us again to carry their messages, or anything else of value to them."

"You risk bringing something into our halls which could harm us," said Odin.

"We are aware of the risk," said Drifa. "It is for that reason that we have come unarmed, and I have brought my family: as a show of good faith that, whatever may be contained therein, we are not responsible for putting it there, nor do we desire any harm to befall you or your people." Her daughter, Fastvi, shifted to whisper in her father's ear, and the little bells in her hair chimed in the silence.

"Be at peace; we are not in the habit of punishing messengers for the tidings they are charged to bring." Odin narrowed his eye, then nodded; one of the Einherjar came forward and took the box from Drifa, and bought it up the steps of the dais.

As it passed, Loki felt a chill on the back of his neck, and a familiar twinge in the muscles of his chest. "I recommend against touching what lies inside, All-Father," he said aloud. "There is an enchantment of some kind upon it. It may be nothing, but it is possible that you would prefer a cautious approach, given the likely sender."

The king, his once-father, studied Loki with an unreadable expression. "Indeed." The Einherjar had stopped cold on the steps leading up to the dais, and was looking decidedly nervous. "Could it be that the box itself is enchanted to protect its contents?"

With a quick glance for permission, Loki approached the guard. Cautiously, he held one hand just above the carved lid, then shook his head, immediately regretting the way the room spun in response. "It is not the box, All-Father. The seidr I feel is coming from within." Despite his dizziness, he did not miss the way the Einherjar guard's shoulders relaxed minutely.

"Very well."

The Einherjar knelt at the foot of the All-Father's throne, and held up the box; Odin placed Gungnir to one side in its holster, leaned forward, and lifted the lid

His eye widened briefly, perhaps unseen by the rest of the people gathered, but his expression quickly gave way to anger; it had been a long time, now, but Loki still recognized that look, and felt a trickle of dread creep down his spine.

With measured gestures, Odin closed the lid, signaled the Einherjar to stand aside, and placed his hand upon Gungnir. When he looked back down at the couriers, his glare _burned_ ; Loki remembered more than one very bad day that had begun with that glare.

"Thank you for delivering this… message," he said, in carefully even tones. "I have no response for you to carry; in fact, I would recommend for your safety that you avoid returning to the man who hired you, and go back instead to Nidhud's service."

Drifa was wise enough to look very uneasy, and to pull her daughter closer. "We will heed your advice, All-Father."

"That would be best." He dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and the entire court waited in silence while they made the long walk to the public entrance. Loki glanced out of the corner of his eye to where Sigyn and Fandral stood; they looked just as worried as Loki felt. What could possibly have moved the All-Father to such a temper?

Only when they were finally gone did Odin stand, turn his back on the court, and take the private exit behind the throne, leaving the courtiers to murmur and whisper among themselves. He paused only long enough to say something to one of the guards stationed there; the guard came down the steps toward Loki.

"My prince. The All-Father commands your presence in his private study." He turned toward the Einherjar and nodded at the box the other man still carried. "And you are to bring that."

Loki might still be nominally a prince of Asgard, but he had no desire to press his luck with the All-Father so clearly in a foul mood, so he took the long way to the royal wing rather than the shortcut behind the throne. When he began to list to one side, Fandral and Sigyn rushed to prop him up.

"Did you see what it was?" asked Fandral.

"No, of course not," said Loki. "I wasn't far enough up the steps."

Sigyn leaned in and squeezed his arm. "Loki, are you well enough to answer his summons?"

"I'm sure he thinks that if I was well enough to come here, I am well enough to stand in his study while he shouts at me about whatever this is."

"All right," said Fandral, "but you still look terrible."

"Yes, thank you." Loki paused to lean against the wall of the corridor, pressing his forehead to the cool stone. "I never would have guessed."

* * *

 

Loki's friends insisted on waiting for him outside Odin's study, where they technically were not allowed to be; the royal wing was for royal family and guests, but Loki's status as a member of the royal family had been ambiguous enough, after Odin had given him up, that he had never really felt safe testing the boundaries of what he was permitted. It was probably the only scenario where he _hadn't_ wanted to push his luck just to see what he could get away with, but since he had not lived here in centuries, the point was generally moot.

"Enter," called Odin, when Loki knocked. Upon seeing Loki's face, he frowned in what almost looked like exasperation. "Sit. You look as though you were recently trampled."

"I will admit I've felt better," said Loki.

"Hm. And I suppose the healers did not actually give you leave to come to court today."

"They did not expressly _forbid_ it," offered Loki, with a wan smile.

"Hm." Odin's brief amusement flickered and died, as he looked again at the box on his desk. "You are Tyr's son," he said after a long moment. "You have a right to the contents of this box, if only to dispose of the remains."

Loki felt the floor drop out from under him, and he swayed in his seat. "Re—remains?" He stared at the box, trying to remember to breathe; it wasn't large enough to contain a head, was it?

Odin frowned and held up a hand. "Calm yourself," he said. "I misspoke. Tyr yet lives. I conferred with Heimdall this very morning. But it seems his captors wish to send an… unambiguous message to us regarding his ransom."

He nodded pointedly at the box, and Loki stood unsteadily, smoothing the front of his tunic in a nervous gesture. He turned the box to face him with shaking hands, and lifted the lid.

It took a moment for his mind to register just what he was seeing: a burned, shriveled, severed hand, wearing one of Tyr's rings.

Loki cried out, and stumbled back, collapsing into the chair behind him and covering his mouth with both hands. The thought battered its way through his mind:

They'd taken his father's hand.

They'd taken his _hand_.

They'd done this to his _father_.

"…Loki? Loki!"

He startled at Odin's voice, and looked up, his vision blurred with tears. The room spun terribly, and Loki clutched at the arms of the chair to keep himself from falling over.

Odin rose, and came around his desk, and put a hand on Loki's shoulder; Loki fought not to flinch, but Odin did not squeeze painfully, or shake him, or anything else. "I should have warned you better," he said gruffly. "I… You have my apologies."

Loki nodded, unable to speak, barely able to think. He swallowed again, twice, three times, until he found his voice once more. "What do you intend?" he asked. His voice sounded a bit thready even to his own ears.

Odin sighed, and moved back to his seat. "Asgard cannot afford to instigate a war with Vanaheim," he said. "You know this."

Loki blinked, and struggled to bring himself back from the edges of shock.

They'd taken his father's hand… and Asgard would do nothing.

They'd done _this_ , to _his father_ , and Odin would sit there and allow them to get away with it.

Oh, Loki knew the politics of the situation. Knew that likely Odin would say that Asgard _couldn't_ do anything, even if they wanted to. He'd known that before.

But that was before Kaetilfast had maimed his father.

They'd _taken his father's hand_.

They'd taken Tyr's hand…

…and they were going to _pay_.

Loki's face felt hot, along with the tips of his ears, and he realized he was glaring at the wooden box as if he could make it ignite with his will alone. If he wasn't careful, that might actually happen; it had been a long time since his seidr had escaped his control, however, and he wasn't going to let it happen today.

Instead, Loki stood, swaying only a little, and leaned forward, placing just the tips of his fingers on the edge of Odin's desk and putting his weight on them.

"What do you _mean_ , you will do nothing to help _my father_?"

Odin had a strange expression on his face, as if he were not sure whether to be impressed by Loki's strength or unimpressed at his attempts to intimidate the All-Father. Loki wasn't trying to intimidate him; he was merely finished playing games while his _father_ suffered at the hands of a petty, sadistic _coward_.

Loki might be young yet, but he had skills, he had friends… including resources that the All-Father might not even know about. Loki might not be a warrior like his brother, but Frigga, Mimir, and Tyr had all supported him over the centuries, and all had told him in their own ways that he could easily grow to become a force to be reckoned with in his own right, if he put his mind and heart into it.

He was about to put his mind and heart into making Kaetilfast regret he had ever been born.

"Asgard cannot be seen to act in any official capacity," Odin was saying. "You know this. We underestimated Nidhud before, and now we reap the consequences. To move against him with the necessary force to rescue both General Tyr and Master Völund would be to declare war against all of Vanaheim, and that is a war I am unwilling to wage. Not when I must weigh the lives of all my citizens, all my subjects, against the lives of only two men."

Loki felt his seidr stir, and tamped it down before the walls could begin trembling again. "If you will do nothing, then I will."

Odin raised one eyebrow. "You would defy your king, to do this?" he asked. Loki stood taller, folding his arms, his feet apart, his lips pressed tight together, and glared at the older man. "Risk war with another realm? Endanger the lives of any who are foolish enough to go with you against my orders?"

"Whether or not it is defiance depends entirely on you, All-Father," said Loki. The anger smoldered in his voice, but he managed to control it and keep himself just shy of outright rebellion. "But he is my father. If it were your son, you would do the same."

"I would," said Odin, and Loki blinked. He'd been expecting more of an argument than that.

He narrowed his eyes again, pushing at the boundaries as he had not with Odin in a very long time. "If you refuse to do anything now, for your general and a valued citizen, then Thor would be right about one thing; it would make Asgard look weak. It would look as if Vanaheim could act against us with impunity."

"We are not weak!" Odin snapped. "We would appear just as weak as Thor claims, if we were to leap to act in the face of every petty taunt Vanaheim throws our way. They are beneath us."

"This _attack_ is not beneath us!"

"Yet Asgard will act when it is the proper time to do so."

"My father—your _general_ —may well be _dead_ by then!" Pain stabbed behind Loki's eyes, and he took a deep breath, calming himself rather than escalating Odin's reaction. "If you will do nothing, then it falls to me to do it for you."

"I cannot support you in this," warned Odin. "It is reckless. _Asgard_ cannot support you in this. Neither prince of Asgard is permitted to go to Vanaheim, after the recent debacle. The Bifrost is closed to Thor, for his foolishness; should you try to leave, you will find that it is closed to you as well."

Loki squinted a little, studying the face of the man who was once his father. Did Odin not realize that Loki had other means of travel between the realms? He was certain that the king, who was once his father, had kept tabs on him over the years, even if he had promised not to interfere in Tyr's raising of him. Loki had asked Tyr not to boast of his ability to sky-walk, and indeed there were few even in Vingólf who knew of it. But still. Odin could not possibly have allowed himself to remain ignorant of all that Loki had accomplished under Tyr and Mimir's tutelage… could he?

It was Odin's turn to narrow his eye, as the silence stretched between them. "You will _not_ defy me in this," he repeated. "You will not go stomping off to the barracks to order _my_ men to go with you on some reckless crusade. Should you try, I will regret it, but I will not hesitate to place you in the dungeons for a few days until your temper has cooled. Do you understand me?"

Perhaps this was what Thor felt, when he'd believed that Odin was testing him somehow. It felt as though there were undercurrents here, things carefully left unsaid.

"I understand, All-Father," said Loki, equally carefully. Slowly, he picked up the box on Odin's desk—Odin had already said he had the right to dispose of the remains as he saw fit—and made it vanish. Then he gave the barest sketch of a salute and a bow, trying not to fall over as his dizziness returned with a vengeance, before turning carefully on his heel and stalking toward the door of Odin's study without being dismissed.

"And what is it that you think you will you do?" Odin asked, stopping him in his tracks.

Loki looked over his shoulder. "I will bring my father back. Without your aid, since you refuse to give it."

"You have been warned, Loki," said Odin. "Do not _test_ whether or not I will follow through."

"I have been warned," he admitted stiffly, "but I will not allow that to stop me."

The door closed quietly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doggone it, I keep forgetting to credit Shi_Toyu for her work as a beta and general handholder and friend. This chapter in particular really benefited from her advice, and I keep forgetting to say thank you.
> 
> THANK YOU.


	13. Frigga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki speaks with Frigga.

Loki only barely managed to make it out of Odin's study before the floor spun away out from under him again; if Sigyn and Fandral hadn't been waiting just outside, there would have been no one to catch him before he sprawled out on the floor like a common drunkard.

"I told you he wasn't well enough for this," Sigyn hissed, somewhere over his head. "I told you both!"

"Well I couldn't exactly say no to the _queen_ , now could I?" Fandral retorted, then sighed. "Let's get him back to the healing wing. If we're lucky they won't notice us sneaking in the same way we snuck out."

"No," said Loki, and felt both of them start in surprise. "I'm not going back to the healing wing."

"But Loki…"

" _No_ ," he said. Gradually, he got his feet back under him and pushed himself upright, ignoring the dizziness as best he could. "My mother sent you to bring me to court, and she was not there. And her gardens are closer from here, anyway. I would speak with her."

"You should be in bed," Sigyn insisted. She rested a hand on his cheek, her face full of concern.

"I know."  Loki touched his forehead to hers. "And I will rest, soon. But I will do so at Vingólf."

"Is this to do with the message," asked Fandral, "or just your own stubbornness about doing what the healers ask?"

The message. Loki shuddered. His father's hand, burned in a fire and sent to them in a wooden box. Had they burned him before they cut it off? Had he been made to suffer that agony as well as the amputation itself? Had he been conscious for any of it?

"Loki," said Sigyn quietly, "you're shaking."

"I'm sorry."

"No! No, it's… are you all right?"

He was better off than Tyr, right now, and that was all that mattered to him.

* * *

 

Court had taken place a little before sunset, and Loki had spoken to Odin while twilight beckoned. Night had just fallen by the time they reached the Queen's Gardens, but Frigga was there waiting for them, just inside the entry arch, looking as serene and unsurprised under the firelight as she always did.

"Thank you for bringing my son," she said. "You may leave us now."

Fandral and Sigyn traded a glance. "My queen," began Fandral, "if I may…"

"I understand that you have been assisting Loki today, and keeping him company when I could not," said Frigga. "I appreciate your efforts. However, he and I need to speak privately, and I will see him off to Vingólf myself once we have finished our discussion." She smiled, softening her dismissal just a little. "You may await him either at the skiff docks, or at Vingólf yourselves."

Of course, there was nothing they could say to that, so they had little choice but to offer a formal bow and curtsey, and take three steps back, and leave, although both of them watched Loki worriedly over their shoulders as they did.

"Come, my son," said Frigga. "You look exhausted."

"I am not tired," insisted Loki, but his mother merely rolled her eyes.

"Sit anyway," she said. "Before you fall down."

He would have argued, but the world was trying to tip sideways on him again, and his headache was returning with a vengeance. He sat, and closed his eyes, and inhaled the fragrance of the flowers blooming on the vines nearby.

"Kaetilfast sent the message, I presume," said Frigga.

Loki nodded. The hand… he could see it in his mind's eye. It took a moment before he realized he was shaking again, trembling like Sleipnir had when he'd first been born.

"Not a polite request, then."

"No." He blinked away tears, trying to form the words. "They took—Kaetilfast, he—" He shut his eyes, took a deep breath… and still could not say the words. "They've… they maimed him," was the best he could do.

Beside him, he heard Frigga's sharp intake of breath. "Sent you a trophy," she said. "In a show of defiance, or a demand for ransom. Or both."

"Yes." His father's sword hand. The weapon hand of the chief general of Asgard's armies. The second most powerful man in the realm, rendered helpless and crippled. His _hand_ , his own flesh, taken and thrown in the fire like so much offal. Enchanted, somehow, Loki would have to unravel that. But they'd…

His shaking grew worse.

"Come here, my son," said Frigga, wrapping her arms around him.

His tears began to trickle down his cheeks as he sat and shook, dizzy and sick and miserable. Still, "I don't need to weep," he said.

"You do," said Frigga. "Rest your head. I've got you."

"I am not a child."

"No," said Frigga sadly. "Not anymore. If you were a child, I could take your hurts from you and make them vanish. But you are nearly a man grown, and your wounds are a man's wounds, now."

"I want to burn Vanaheim to the ground," said Loki. "And Odin wishes to do _nothing_. I am angry, I-I am _furious_ , and I _will_ help Father, but I am so angry I can hardly think."

"That is not all you feel, though," observed Frigga.

They'd taken his father's hand. Loki's shaking grew worse.

"And that is why you must weep now," she went on. "One thing at a time. First, your grief. Your horror at what was done. Then, your anger, and you will be more clear-headed for it."

They'd taken his _hand._

Loki ducked his head down onto his mother's shoulder, and let the tears come.

* * *

 

Loki's eyes were swollen, when the storm of his tears had finally passed. His nose was blocked, and his headache was a fierce thing behind his eyes. Anyone who looked at him would know he'd been weeping.

"Here, let me," said Frigga; she stroked one hand gently across his face, and her seidr soothed his eyes and nose, and eased his headache, a little.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"Now. What else do you feel?"

Loki took a deep breath; the horror at what had been done was still there, but he found that the shock was gone, and he could think again. Or at least, he would be able to, once he'd slept a bit. "Tired. Numb."

"I understand. What else?"

"At the moment, nothing. I'm too…" He shook his head, then grabbed the edge of the bench when the motion made everything spin, yet again. "It's too much. I need to rest. But in the All-Father's study, I was so angry."

"As well you should be," said Frigga. "I know you care deeply for General Tyr."

"He is my father. And I _will_ bring him—"

"Stop." Frigga held up a hand, and he looked at her in confusion. "I must ask this of you, Loki: do not tell me what you intend."

Loki frowned. "Why not?"

Frigga sighed. "I love you, my son. But I also know you well. I know you will soon craft some scheme to aid the general, if you haven't already, and that you will likely defy Odin to do… whatever it may be. I cannot condone such a thing."

"Mother—"

"But I cannot fault you for it, either." Loki fell silent, and searched her face. "Please do not tell me what you have planned," she said. "I am your mother, but you must never forget that I am also Odin's wife. I cannot grant you _permission_ to do whatever you intend. Please do not place me in a position where you must defy me, as well."

Loki blinked. "I… I think I understand. I would not enjoy defying you, but for my father, I would do it."

"I know. And I have no desire to put either of us in that position. But come," she said, with a gentle smile; "we were talking of what lies in your heart. You were grieving. You were angry, and I think that has not abated, so much as succumbed for now to your weariness. What else do you feel?"

Loki looked away, to the flickering of the torchlight nearby. "I want them to _pay_ ," he said quietly at first, then gradually louder. "I want Kaetilfast to regret ever crossing paths with my Father. I want him to deeply, _deeply_ regret harming him, with every fiber of his being. There is a part of me that wants to make him regret ever having been born. There is even a part of me that wants to destroy Vanaheim itself."

"That may be taking it a bit far," said Frigga. She stood, and held out a hand for him. "Come."

Loki stood, then waited while his mother steadied him, looking as though she were merely taking his elbow for a dignified walk, queen and prince.

"We will go slowly," she promised.

"I am afraid I have little choice," he admitted.

They walked in silence through the palace, from the entrance by the Gardens to the exit near the skiff docks. "You seem very… calm, about all this," said Loki after a while.

"Not calm, precisely," she replied with a little sigh. "Accepting. As I've said, I know you, Loki. You will do this thing, I think, whatever it may be, regardless of how I might feel about it."

"If anyone could stop me, it would be you," said Loki.

"No, I am not at all certain that I could," said Frigga. "Not this time. Nor do I wish to try. That is why I do not wish to know what you have planned. If I were required to stop you, to demand that you favor my wishes over Tyr's needs, you would resent me for it, and regret not going to your father. No. I will not force you to choose which parent you care about _more_. I would be no kind of mother, were I to attempt such a thing."

Loki took that in. "I admit I had hoped for… some small measure of encouragement, perhaps."

"I cannot give it," she said simply. "I can tell you that, whatever you plan, I am certain you will do it to the utmost of your abilities, which are formidable. I can tell you that I have no desire to forbid you to aid your foster father in whatever fashion you devise, and I accept that you will do so no matter what my misgivings may be. But I am also a mother, Loki. I have no desire to _encourage_ my son to place himself in harm's way. And yet, at the same time, I am proud of him for being willing to do so for the sake of someone he cares about."

Her words were not quite what he'd hoped for, but they were not a rejection of him or his desire, either. "Odin has said I may not order any soldiers to accompany me, nor may I use the Bifrost." He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I know not whether he is telling me not to go at all, or simply not to use obvious means to do so."

Frigga hummed thoughtfully. "He may not know you can walk between the worlds," she said. "I know I have said nothing to him. And the ability, so far as I know, is unique, something you alone possess."

"Thor thought the All-Father was testing him, before. I begin to see why; his words are… cryptic."

"Tsk." Frigga shook her head. "No doubt if you fail, he will tell you that he explicitly forbade you, and if you succeed he will take the credit for his subtlety."

"He did say that the princes of Asgard were forbidden to go to Vanaheim. That seemed clear enough."

"Yet you plan to circumvent his order. Or so I assume."

"Not 'circumvent' so much as 'ignore'," said Loki. "Although I had considered… well. I suppose I cannot really tell you what I'd considered."

"That would be best," said Frigga. "In any case, if it comes to it, if things go poorly, your status as a prince might protect you."

Loki scowled, until the expression aggravated his headache and he rubbed hard at his temple with his free hand. "It did not protect Father."

"Oh, but it did," she retorted. "Do you think he would still be alive now, if he were not of a high enough rank for Kaetilfast to ransom?"

Loki sighed. "They took his hand, Mother." His voice only barely shook, and that was with anger more than horror, finally. "That was Kaetilfast's 'message': General Tyr Hymirsson's hand, _cut off_ and defiled, and placed in a box."

"…I see." They walked another few paces before she asked, "Defiled?"

"They threw it into a fire. It is blackened and burned. And there is some sort of enchantment upon it," said Loki. "It may only be a preservation charm, but I doubt it, given what their sorcerer did to me the last time we crossed paths."

"Hm." Frigga nodded. "I find it interesting that Heimdall did not warn you of the sorcerer's presence in their camp. Or did he?"

"No. But then he has always hoarded his words carefully," said Loki, rolling his eyes; "Thor did not specifically _ask_ if there was a sorcerer, so perhaps he felt no need to warn us."

"It is the Gatekeeper's duty to protect Asgard by telling all that he sees," said Frigga. "I am not best pleased that he neglected to reveal this danger to you."

"Fear not, Mother," said Loki. "I am well aware that knowledge is power, especially in a situation such as this. I have every intention of gathering as much information as I can from Heimdall, and from other sources." His lips thinned. "Unlike Thor, I will not go on my mission half-blinded by hubris."

"Loki."

"You cannot tell me that Thor's only thought was for my father's safety," he warned. "I watched how he behaved. How he refused to listen to me, how he shook off my concerns like so much dust on his boots."

"He had never led troops into battle before," said Frigga. "He has fought in several, but never led. His mistakes were common enough errors for new officers."

"So desperate to prove himself that he lost sight of the true objective?"

Frigga sighed. "You will forgive him eventually. He is your brother. Perhaps after you have made similar errors."

"Errors that cost men's lives, and his father's hand?" Loki scoffed. "No, Mother, I do not think such errors will be mine to make."

"Do try to remember you are not perfect, either," said Frigga. She sounded annoyed with him for the first time, and Loki subsided.

"I will forgive him, eventually, as you say. But it will be some time, I'm afraid."

They reached the dock, and Loki saw the silhouettes of Fandral and Sigyn, waiting for him under a lamp next to one of the skiffs. Frigga stopped, and pulled Loki's head down for her to kiss his brow. "I cannot give you my permission to do this thing," she said. "Whatever it is that you are about to do. But so long as I do not know what you have planned, I cannot forbid it, either. You are old enough to make your own choices, and live with the consequences, be they good or ill. And in any case, I know that you are motivated by love for your father, and I cannot fault you for that."

Loki took another deep breath. "I am motivated by an intense desire for vengeance," he confessed.

"Which you would not feel if you did not care for Tyr so deeply," she countered.

Loki smiled tiredly. "No, I suppose not."

"That's right. Do not argue with your mother."

Loki's smiled widened. "I love you as well, Mother. Never doubt it."

She pressed a hand to his cheek, and stroked her thumb across his eyebrow. "I never have."

* * *

 

Frigga passed him off to Fandral and Sigyn, who got him settled into the bow of the skiff where he would be most sheltered from the wind. Though the night was growing chilly, Fandral wrapped his own cloak around Loki, and Sigyn sat beside him, her warmth pressed up against him. He dozed off to the vibrating hum of the skiff's propulsion, his head on Sigyn's shoulder.

* * *

 

Loki slept deeply, and dreamt of his father, falling forever into a long void, as Loki reached for him and missed; his father, caged like an animal while waves crashed over his head and he coughed and sputtered; his father's hand, twitching like a crushed spider and crawling out of its box.

When he woke, Loki found himself in his own bed, in his own chambers in Vingólf, with no memory of how he'd gotten there. His sleep had not been restful, and indeed he felt almost as tired as he had the night before, but his headache and dizziness at least were much diminished. A quick warmup exercise showed that his seidr was nearly back to normal, as well.

That was good, he thought, as he cast the covers aside and carefully got out of bed.

It was time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to you all for the great response last chapter. I am spoiled and blessed to have such great readers. I hope you enjoy this one as well, even if it's a bit shorter than usual.


	14. Planning, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healer Runa speaks with Loki; Loki speaks to Heimdall, then receives an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get too accustomed to these super-fast updates, y'all. I'm just sort of on a roll at the moment.

"And just what do you think you are doing?" Healer Runa had brought Loki's breakfast, instead of the servant he had expected. He felt a little underdressed receiving her, wearing only his morning robe and sleeping pants, but Runa had seen him in far less for her examinations, over the years.

"I'm not sure I understand the question," he said.

Runa just gave him a look. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Eating, now that you have brought food." And after that, he had a rescue to plan.

"Mm. Sit."

"A number of people have been ordering me to do that lately," he groused, but he followed Runa out to the receiving room, pulled out a chair, and did as she asked.

Runa set the tray on the table and stood so close that their knees were almost touching. She took Loki's head in her hands, turning it this way and that as she stared into his eyes. "I'm surprised you're up and moving."

"I feel much better today," said Loki. "Although my headache is sure to return if you keep yanking my head all over the place."

"Don't be smart with me."

He smiled a little, unable to resist. "Shall I be foolish with you instead?"

"You already are." Runa stepped back and sat, rummaging in the pockets of her robes until she pulled forth a small vial, filled with cloudy blue liquid. "Drink this."

Loki eyed the vial. He could not afford to have his wits dulled today; there was too much that he needed to accomplish. "What does it do?"

"It will ease the symptoms, but it is _not_ a cure, so don't go acting like you're back to your usual mischievous self," said Runa. "And before you ask: Lady Eir is the most accomplished healer in all Asgard, and possibly the Nine Realms. But thanks to you, _I've_ picked up a bit more expertise in dealing with seidr-related injuries than what she has, in recent years. Your channels are a bit bruised, so to speak, but not badly, and if you're already able to walk on your own without falling down…" She trailed off, and let her eyebrows turn the statement into a question.

"Er. Yes. So far I've only been a little dizzy, nowhere near as bad as yesterday. Although I haven't been out of bed for very long. I've been keeping close to the walls and tables, just in case."

"Mm. Good to see you still have some sense in your head, young master."

Loki frowned, then rubbed at the tight spot between his eyes that still had not entirely gone away. "Why do you say that?"

Runa took his hand away from his forehead and slapped the vial into it. "Following your brother to Vanaheim? What were you thinking—either of you? You could have been killed, and then what would the general think, hm? How do you imagine he would feel if he were to lose you?" She glared. "Drink that."

Loki sighed, and pulled the stopper out of the tiny bottle. "Thank you for bringing it," he said. The taste was cool and herbal, and he could feel it working on the pain in his head almost immediately.

Runa softened, if only a little. "You're welcome, my prince," she said. Loki looked up; it was usually "young master" or just his name; she hardly ever called him by his title. "We were all very worried."

"Still are, I imagine," said Loki, looking back down at the vial in his hand. "You will be needed when Father returns."

"You have news?"

Loki nodded. "It isn't good. He… he won't be the same, after this."

Runa was silent for a long moment, until he looked up to see her watching him intently. "Tell me," she said.

"…They cut off his hand. His weapon hand, Healer," said Loki quietly.

Runa's eyes widened, and her own hands clenched into fists. "They _dared_."

"If it pleases you, Healer, I intend to make them regret their daring, once I've fully recovered."

Runa nodded decisively. "If anyone could do it, it would be you."

Loki blinked. "You're not going to tell me not to go?"

"I?" Runa raised an eyebrow. "I'm a healer, not your nursemaid. It isn't my job to tell you what to do, it's my job to clean up the mess if it all goes especially badly. I trust you will be sensible, and see that it _doesn't_ go badly."

"That is my hope, yes." An idea came to him then, and he smiled tentatively. "I haven't made all my plans yet, but… how do you feel about going to Vanaheim for a few days to collect some texts or herbs, or something like that?"

Runa touched her fingertips to her lips, thinking it over. "I'll need more information, but I think I might be able to spare some time."

"As soon as I've finalized everything, I will let you know."

The healer stood, straightening her robes with a quick twitch of the fabric. "Don't exert yourself today," she said. "You mentioned making plans; you're probably safe to do that much, but try not to abuse your seidr so soon after your injury. And I'd prefer it if you didn't leave the house."

"I'll need to, at least once," said Loki. He might be forbidden from using the Bifrost, but he would still need to speak to Heimdall and learn as much as he could before he left on his own pathways. "I'll try to send others to do as much as I can, but there is someone I will need to visit in person; it can't be avoided."

Runa nodded, taking the empty vial back from him and stepping back with a little bow. "I trust you'll at least be sensible, for your father's sake if nothing else. Whatever you intend, you cannot do it if you are not at your full strength yourself. Trying to do otherwise would be a recipe for disaster."

"I know." He didn't like it, but he knew. Tyr needed his best, and he would get it, however impatient Loki might be in the meantime.

* * *

 

"Gatekeeper." Loki stood just inside the entry arch to the Observatory, waiting for Heimdall to acknowledge him.

It only took a moment before the older man turned. "Young prince." His strange golden eyes were focused in Loki's direction, but Loki got the impression that he was actually looking at something else far distant. "Your father lives."

"Thank you," said Loki, "but that is not the entire reason I am here."

"No," said Heimdall, "I would expect not." Now his focus shifted, and Loki briefly felt pinned by his gaze, like a rabbit under a hawk's stare. It was not a feeling he much appreciated.

"Why did you not tell us of the sorcerer in Kaetilfast's camp?" he asked.

Heimdall's brow furrowed, and he lifted his chin. His eyes focused on a point somewhere above Loki's head, sweeping back and forth as if reading faraway text. "There is no sorcerer there."

"I beg to differ, given that his or her magic nearly killed me."

"I know." Heimdall continued to frown, and search for who knew what. "Yet I did not see this person, and still do not. Before General Tyr went to speak to King Nidhud, he asked me about their forces, and I told him all I knew. I did not see a sorcerer then, either, and yet I saw him fall to magic, when he was taken captive."

"How is that possible?" asked Loki.

"The legend is that I see all," said the gatekeeper. "But in truth, I am not infallible. I have watched you, exploring the lands of far-distant realms, yet I know I did not bring you there with the Bifrost. I have never once been able to see where you arrived, nor how you left, nor the path you must take in between your departure and your destination." To Loki's surprise, Heimdall's lips quirked in wry amusement. "To tell the truth, this frustrates me more than a little."

Interesting.

"You're suggesting that this sorcerer has a similar ability," said Loki. "Or at least, similar in that he or she can hide from your sight."

"Indeed," said Heimdall. "When you go, you shall have to be wary of this person."

Loki hesitated, on his guard. "Odin has forbidden me to take the Bifrost to Vanaheim," he said.

"I know." The gatekeeper looked at him again with his strange, golden eyes. "Just as I know that you will go there anyway, without my aid."

"Are you going to report that to the All-Father?"

"No."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"

"So long as you do not attempt to defy his command against taking the Bifrost, I have no need to stop you. So long as you do not endanger Asgard, I am not obligated to report to my king anything that you do."

"Does he know that I have other means of traveling to the various realms of the Nine?"

"I am uncertain," said Heimdall.

And that was an interesting line of inquiry, thought Loki, but ultimately distracting. Whether or not Odin knew he could sky walk was a question for another time.

"What have Kaetilfast and his men done since I was brought back?" he asked instead.

And so Heimdall told him. He and Loki spent the next two hours discussing Kaetilfast's troop numbers and strengths, the location of their new encampment, and Tyr's location and condition.

Loki had dreamed about that, he realized. His anger from the night before was rekindled at the thought of how they had treated his father. He could almost hear the waves crashing against Tyr's cage, and could very nearly imagine how much the saltwater must burn in his open wounds. According to Heimdall, the tides brought the water level up to Tyr's neck, so that he was forced to press his face against the very top bars of the cage and struggle for each breath, as the occasional wave forced him under and left him choking. Eventually the tide would recede, and he would be left shivering in the chill air of night, soaked to the skin, or else baking in the relentless sun by day.

Such an ordeal would be exhausting for a man in full health; for Tyr, wounded and half-starved, trapped in a cage far too small for him, it was torture.

"He is already ill, and grows more so," said Heimdall. "Before long his fever will lead to delirium, if left untreated, and then the next tide…"

Loki turned away. His father, sick and injured and no longer able to fight against the rising water, would drown, if Loki did not hurry.

"What of Nidhud?" he asked. "What of Völund?"

And their session continued.

* * *

 

It was midday when Loki returned home to Vingólf. "Young master!" Hoenir bustled toward him, a relieved smile on his face, as Loki came up the stairs and headed toward the dining hall.

"Hoenir." Loki did not slow down as he headed toward the dining hall. "I need to speak to you, to Astrid, and possibly to Olief. Can you bring them to me, please?"

"Of course, young master, but are you truly feeling up to a meal with everyone?" Hoenir wrung his hands together, a worried expression on his face. "We heard such terrible things after you returned from Vanaheim. If you are still feeling unwell, we could have something brought to your chambers—"

"No, thank you, Hoenir. I am fine. But I need to talk to you all about my father, and about what I am going to do to get him back."

At that, Hoenir actually chuckled a little. "I am not surprised in the least, young master. Where would you prefer to meet?"

"In the dining hall is fine," said Loki. He took a deep breath. "I do have something in mind," he said, "but you may get into trouble for it, and I prefer not to drag others into my mischief unless they deserve it, or are willing partners."

"Consider us all willing partners, young master. For this, you have all of Vingólf at your disposal."

So Loki sat and busied himself with his meal, while Hoenir went to gather the others. He could see the looks and hear the whispers from the other people in the hall, and more than once had to pause and thank someone for their well-wishes on his recovery.

It was a strange feeling. Loki had known he was liked well enough here, as Tyr's son, but being in the palace for the past few days had awakened old memories. He had never been like Thor, had never sought to be the center of attention, but he felt somehow unaccustomed even to the regular regard of Vingólf's residents. It felt strange to realize that he would be truly missed, mourned, if he had died in the battle on Vanaheim.

Loki shook off the feeling with a quick breath. He would make certain no one in this hall had cause to mourn, over him, or over his father.

"Ah, Loki." He looked up to see Astrid striding toward him, with Hoenir and the chief cook, Olief, just behind her. "It is good to have you back home. We all worried."

"So I'm beginning to see," said Loki with a smile. "I'm feeling much better. Thank you for asking."

"Have you news from the palace?" asked Olief, pulling up a chair. He still wore his apron and his cheek was smudged with flour.

"I do," said Loki. "And better, I spoke with the Gatekeeper this morning to learn more about Father."

"How is he holding up?" Astrid wanted to know. "We've heard nothing, barring an official messenger from the palace saying that he'd been captured."

Behind her, Loki saw, a number of other servants and staff had begun to gather. Well. He hadn't planned on addressing all of Vingólf, but it suited his purposes well enough to do so. It was efficient, in any case; word would travel more quickly this way, and he could focus on getting things done.

Loki sobered, the anger in his breast stirring. "Not well," he said, and watched as their faces fell. He raised his voice over the murmurs. "He is mistreated by his captors, badly injured, and he grows ill from the conditions in which he is kept." That was putting it as kindly as he could.

"How badly injured?" asked Olief.

Loki had been afraid he might ask that. "They took his hand," he said quietly, and watched their reactions as they realized just what he was saying. "I'm sorry," he added, because if they had managed to rescue Tyr the first time, it wouldn't have happened.

"Bastards," said Olief.

"What do you need from us?" asked Astrid.

"Supplies."

"Not men?" said someone in the gathered crowd.

Loki shook his head. "I am expressly forbidden from ordering any of Odin's soldiers to join me in my 'reckless' scheme," he said. An angry sound rippled through the crowd, and he added, "Which is just as well. I fear they would only get in my way."

"You can't mean to go alone," said Hoenir, and several people added their agreement. "I know you're not one for bluster and swagger, shouting challenges and brandishing your sword, but—" He shook his head. "To go by yourself would be foolhardy."

"I know," said Loki. "And I won't go alone. I simply have not yet decided whom to take with me."

A servant came up to them then, pushing her way through the assembly. "Master Hoenir," she said. "Master Loki. There is someone to see you. Well, three people, but two of them are young master Fandral, and young lady Sigyn."

Hoenir stood, frowning. "Who is the third?"

"I have never seen her before. But she says she will only speak to young master Loki."

Loki stood, and looked around at all the gathered people; there were some of Tyr's guards on retainer, servants, visiting townspeople with errands at the palace, and more… and they were all watching Loki with determination and hope in their eyes.

It was a very strange feeling, indeed, and yet, Loki was a prince. It was probably time he got used to this sort of thing.

"I will bring the general home," he said. "And the people who have hurt him will pay. You have my word on that. My solemn oath."

"You have my sword, my prince," said one of the guards.

"Aye, and mine."

"And mine!"

Loki put a hand up before the situation got out of control. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you. If I have need of you, I promise that I will call upon you. But my plan may not be able to use you. Remember that I am forbidden to order any of you to my service. I cannot command you."

"You're not ordering us, my prince," said one. "We're volunteering."

"Even so," said Loki. "It is best that you keep yourselves sworn to General Tyr, and the All-Father, rather than to me. Yet I thank you."

He turned and left, Hoenir at his shoulder, to the sound of rising voices behind him.

"That could have gone better," he said with a grimace, once they were out in the corridor. "I wanted a quiet meeting with you three, not to incite a mob."

"If I may suggest, young master, perhaps we can confer in your study, or the general's, after you have seen this visitor. As for the rest of the crowd, fear not. Astrid will settle them, and send them on their way."

"Rumors will fly," said Loki.

"They would fly anyway," said Hoenir. "This way there may be a grain of truth to some of them."

* * *

 

The courtyard, in contrast to the dining hall, was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the stamp of a horse's hooves and the distant voices of the grooms in the stable. On one side stood Fandral, and Sigyn, who swiftly came and embraced him.

On the other stood Sif.


	15. Planning, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki sets up a war room, and briefs his people.

"Sif." It had been only a few months since he had last sparred with her, but she would likely not realize that. Every time they had met over the past few centuries, Loki had been in his female form. "This is a surprise… You look well."

She definitely did not recognize the girl that had become her friend, in the young man who stood before her; her bearing was tense, and from the look on her face as she approached, Loki would almost guess that Sif was uneasy. Maybe she expected him still to hate her, after all this time. Maybe she still hated him. "Shieldmother asked me to bring you this," she said. She thrust out a folded, sealed piece of parchment as if it were a weapon, and stared at Loki unblinking until he took it.

* * *

 

 _My son,_ it read.

_As the queen, I cannot gainsay the commands of my husband the king. As a mother, I cannot accept the thought of my boy heading off into danger._

_As a shieldmaiden, however, I understand your need to defend your loved ones and mete out justice to evildoers, and therefore I will not try to stop you as you go into danger, nor will I abandon you to go alone._

_Sif is yours to command for the duration of your mission._

_All my love,_

_Frigga_

* * *

 

"Do you know what this says?" he asked Sif, after reading it through twice.

"Shieldmother did not see fit to share that with me," she answered. By the way she glanced at the paper, she must have been dying to know.

Loki blinked. "What _did_ she say?"

Sif's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Shieldmother says I am to do as you command, but has not said why, nor to what purpose. She said you would tell me that yourself." She paused, and he could see the muscles tighten in her jaw. "If you saw fit."

Loki nodded. "Very well. Come with us," he said, one corner of his mouth quirking at the way her eyes widened in surprise. "I don't think you'll balk at any of what I have to say."

* * *

 

They convened in Loki's receiving room, and Loki took a moment to catch his breath while everyone pulled up chairs, or reached for the food that Hoenir had sent for. Astrid and Olief joined them at the same time as the food arrived, while Runa and two of her apprentices knocked on the door a few minutes later. Loki watched Sif as Sif observed everyone else, in between her perusal of the various curios and mementos he'd collected over his centuries traveling the realms, before finally taking a seat herself.

Clearly, who Loki was now did not match Sif's assumptions and expectations of who he ought to be. She sat quietly, with a little frown drawing a line between her eyebrows, and waited for Loki to begin.

So, with a deep breath, he did. "I mean to return to Vanaheim," he said, "and rescue both my father and Master Völund the Smith. But my tactics will be different in almost every respect from what Asgard usually prefers. Kaetilfast was of Asgard, once; he knows exactly how Asgard is likely to respond, and I mean to foil those expectations. Leave him floundering," Loki fought to keep his voice steady, "and then kill him."

"What troops will you take with you?" asked Fandral.

"You said that the All-Father has forbidden you to command any," put in Hoenir.

"He has," said Loki; "in fact, his exact words were that I was forbidden to order any of _his men_ to accompany me." Loki shrugged. "And that is fine. That is, in fact, the first thing that we will change about what Kaetilfast expects. Rather than a large company with overwhelming force, I had been willing to go alone, if need be—"

He was interrupted by many protesting voices, but Loki stood and held up a hand, and they all quieted. "As I was saying, I _had_ been willing to go alone, but as it turns out, Sif is a shieldmaiden. She is neither a man, nor one of Odin's. And my mother has placed her in my service, for this mission." He caught Sif's eye. "Assuming you have no objections?"

"I am sworn to obey my shieldmother," she replied evenly. "And this seems a worthy task."

"I am glad you agree."

"That's all well and good, Loki," began Fandral, "but if you think I'm going to stay here while you go off—"

"If you doubt me," said Sif, "I would be happy to prove myself by thrashing you into the ground in the sparring ring."

"This has nothing to do with doubting you," exclaimed Fandral. "I have heard many tales of your prowess, and no reason to disbelieve them. No. But Loki is my closest friend, and… and Tyr may not be my father, but he's been a mentor to me over the years, almost as much as he's been to you, Loki. And I'm not one of Odin's men either."

"You're in training to become one of the Einherjar," said Loki. "Even if we succeed, you risk throwing away that opportunity when the All-Father finds out what we've done."

"Eh." Fandral shrugged. "I've postponed it before. For you, as I recall. I can do it again."

Loki blinked at him, struck speechless for a moment, before he shook his head. "You're mad."

"'Course I am," said his closest friend. "So are you. It's not as if this is a surprise!"

Loki nodded, some of the tightness in his chest easing. With three of them, and with the healers waiting for them on the island of Bru where the Bifrost always struck… his plans became much more feasible.

"Only three of us," said Sif. "Against how many men?"

"Kaetilfast began with forty men, plus himself and this sorcerer. Twelve of those were crossbowmen. Since then, he has lost all but two of this crossbows, and is down to a total of twenty-eight men. Plus himself, and his sorcerer."

Sif frowned. "I am sure you realize, these do not seem good odds for an assault."

"No, you are correct, and I have thought of that." Loki brushed his fingertips across his lips. "But that is not quite what we will be doing." He looked around the table at them all. "We will not be the charge for glory, Lady Sif; Thor tried that, my father presumably tried that, and it did not work."

"What will we be, then?" asked Sif.

"We will be the knife in the dark."

Sif said nothing, clearly thinking over Loki's words; after a long moment, she nodded, and Loki felt his tension ease further.

"All right," he said, "here is what we are going to do."

With a practiced gesture, he pulled several maps out of nothing and unrolled the first one on the table between them. "Sif, would you take that corner? Thank you."

"This is like no map I have ever seen," she said.

"No, it wouldn't be," he said, looking up. "I'll let you in on a secret that few know outside of Vingólf. We'll be going to Vanaheim… but we will not utilize the Bifrost."

Sif actually startled at that. "Impossible!"

"No," said Loki with a grin, "just ridiculously improbable. So far as I know, I am the only person who can do it, and I've never brought anyone with me, but for this I am willing to try."

"Do what?"

"Walk there, of course." He couldn't resist saying it as flippantly as possible, just for the look on Sif's face.

"You'd better experiment first, young master," said Hoenir. "Make absolutely certain you _can_ take anyone with you."

Loki nodded, acknowledging the point. "Very well. Who would like to come with me to Midgard?"

Sif frowned, and she was not the only one. "Why Midgard?" asked Sigyn. "Do you not wish to try Vanaheim itself?"

"Not yet," said Loki. "Kaetilfast's forces include a sorcerer of their own, as I've said, and I know not how powerful he or she is. I do not wish to do anything to alert them of our presence before we are ready to strike."

"I will go," said Fandral.

"I would like to," said Sigyn. "Although I realize I will not be joining you on Vanaheim. If anything goes amiss…"

"Do not even think it!" Loki stared at her, aghast. "You are not expendable, simply because you are no warrior."

Sigyn nodded, a little sadly. "Some other time, then." She smiled at him then. "You did promise to show me the realms someday."

Loki softened, unable to deny her anything. It was a good thing that she was a fundamentally decent person. "And I shall," he promised.

Runa spoke up next. "As I understand it," she said, "we healers _will_ take the Bifrost. I assume you will bring Tyr to us?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Loki with a nod. "Here. Let us return to the maps.

"I call these the 'branches of Yggdrasil'," he said, smoothing the topmost map in the stack. "From here on Asgard, I can step through to these twigs and branches and limbs, and simply _walk_ anywhere within the Nine Realms. I can walk, and have walked, to Vanaheim. But that realm presents a challenge."

Loki unrolled another map, this time of Vanaheim itself. "You can see how few landmasses there are of any size; most of the paths I have taken to Vanaheim have ended over water. They are useless to us. However, we can come out here, or here." He pointed to two islands, relatively close to Bru.

"But the general isn't being held in either of those places," guessed Runa.

"No. According to Heimdall, after Thor and I were defeated—" Loki took a deep breath, and pushed his anger aside. "After that battle, Kaetilfast moved his encampment to this island, here. He should still be close enough to see the Bifrost, and we can use that against him."

"The healer's trip is a decoy," said Fandral. "A trick."

Loki tipped his head back and forth. "Yes and no."

Runa frowned. "How are we to treat Tyr if we are on Bru, and you have landed clear over there? That looks to be—"

"It is as close as I can get, if I don't want to _swim_ to my father," said Loki. "But if we land at either of these islands, we can sail the rest of the way. I can rescue Father, collect you on Bru, and then we all go together to rescue Master Völund."

"Loki," said Olief carefully, "you can't expect to hire a Vanir crew to go against their fellow Vanir."

"Of course not," said Loki. "But we won't need a Vanir crew." With a gesture, he summoned something from his study and placed it on the table in front of them. It looked like nothing so much as a bundle of twigs, none much thicker than a toothpick, all of varying lengths that made no sense when taken all together.

"What is that?" Fandral asked doubtfully.

"You'll see." When Fandral and Sif gave him identical looks of annoyance, he couldn't help but smile, just a little. "You will. It isn't important right now.

"What is important is the timing, and the supplies. After Kaetilfast defied Nidhud and attacked Father, Nidhud abandoned him and sailed for the Thousand Suns… here." He touched another point on the map. "Heimdall says that he is still there. A regular ship could take up to three days to reach him, once we have rescued Father; I will be able to bring us there faster than that, but we will need supplies for, hmm, nine days, at a minimum, just to be safe. We each will bring weapons, and changes of clothing; Olief, I will need food and other provisions from you. Runa, you and your apprentices should be prepared to bring everything you can think of, to treat my father."

"Do we know anything about his injuries?" she asked. "You've told me about his hand."

Loki took a deep breath. "He has been beaten, repeatedly. Starved, so that he is slow to heal from his injuries. Flogged at least once that Heimdall has seen. They…" Loki swallowed, his throat gone dry. "I know I told you that they've amputated his hand, but I doubt they were clean about it. Most recently, he is kept in a cage that is exposed to the elements, heat and sun by day, cold by night, and the rising tides whenever the moons of Vanaheim are in alignment." He reached up and rubbed at the tight spot between his eyes, as his headache began to return. "His wounds are almost certainly infected. Heimdall says he is ill with fever, and may become delirious soon if he is left untreated."

They all shifted in their seats, exchanging murmured words and glances. "Kaetilfast wanted him alive for ransom, didn't he?" asked Hoenir. "If he sickens and dies, they lose their leverage against us."

"Kaetilfast is a coward and a thug, who enjoys bullying other people weaker than him," said Loki. "There was no reason for him to be this cruel to my father except that he enjoyed it. I doubt Kaetilfast will move him to protect his life, when he can _gloat_ instead. We can use that against him as well. He may panic if he realizes that his hostage is close to… close to dying. He may do something foolish that we can capitalize on."

"If I may?" asked Sif; she looked nervous when they all turned to her and grew quiet. "My understanding of your plan so far is that the healers will take the Bifrost to Bru. This Kaetilfast will see it and assume that Asgard is sending a response, and he will prepare a defense."

"Yes," said Loki.

"The healers' arrival is a diversion, while your real forces approach from one of these other islands," said Sif.

"Yes, that is correct."

"Your timing will have to be perfect."

"I know," said Loki. "I am not terribly worried about that."

Sif blinked at him for a second, as if waiting for him to say something snide. "Will your means of travel allow you to navigate to this island where the general is being held, to Bru, and then to the Thousand Suns?" she asked. "Without that…" she trailed off.

Loki nodded, and she seemed even more confused. "You're absolutely right," he said. "And I plan to craft something before we go, a spell that will show us where everyone is, to make sure that they don't move around on us. I don't want us to spend a month wandering Vanaheim, chasing rumors, if Kaetilfast should decide to relocate once again."

"You'll trace General Tyr and Master Völund?" asked Olief.

"And one other, if I can," replied Loki. "As I mentioned before, they have a sorcerer. This sorcerer happens to have a unique ability—he or she can hide from Heimdall's sight. It is why we were defeated so easily when Thor and I went, and I suspect it is why Father was defeated, himself. But he, or she, has already made a mistake, which I mean to be the last one they ever make."

"What was it?" Sif wanted to know.

Loki took a deep breath. "After they cut off my father's hand, Kaetilfast sent it to us, in a box, _covered_ in the sorcerer's magic. I have been recovering still, and taking Healer Runa's advice for a change, so I haven't examined it closely yet, but the sorcerer would have known that I could use Tyr's hand to trace Tyr's location. I suspect that he or she has placed spells on it to try and prevent me from doing that. However, if I can unravel the spells, I'll not only have a means to trace my father, I will have a sample of the sorcerer's magic, and be able to trace him or her as well."

Runa spoke up then. "Will you do that first, or the test journey to Midgard?"

"The hand," said Loki. It was distasteful and distressing, and he wanted it out of the way first.

Runa nodded. "I'd like to examine you one last time to make sure you are well, before you try anything of that magnitude."

"Of course." Depending on the spells, it shouldn't actually be anything terribly strenuous, but she had been right when she spoke to him this morning: Loki needed to be at his full strength in order to make sure everything went the way it ought, when they went to Vanaheim.

"The rest of today is about preparation," said Loki. "Gathering supplies, making sure I _can_ take people with me to Vanaheim, crafting the navigation spells that will let me find Father and Master Völund, and so on. Fandral, I will likely send you on several errands, here and there; Sigyn, if you have no objection, I may send you as well."

"What of me?" asked Sif.

"Your things are still in the royal palace, are they not?" At her nod, Loki continued. "You will prepare for a journey of several days; gather everything you think you will need, then return here. Astrid will have a room made up for you when you come back. By then, I may have more for you, or I may not."

Sif didn't exactly look thrilled to be left out of the errands, but he knew she did not yet trust him fully, and she seemed at least to accept that his orders so far were reasonable. That was all he needed for the time being. Later in the day, they would have time to talk privately.

"When will you leave? How much time do we have to prepare?" asked Olief.

"As soon as possible," said Loki. "My injury has delayed us long enough, and I fear leaving my father to wait on us for much longer. Ideally, we will go tomorrow, and the healers will follow behind; the exact time you leave will depend on a few calculations I must make first."

Everyone nodded; everyone looked at Loki with such utter confidence, such _trust_ that his decisions would steer them to victory. Their lives were in his hands, and none of them were afraid.

He looked around the table at them all; the healers, his friends, and the palace staff who ran Vingólf according to his father's direction. "Thank you all," he said quietly. "I mean for us to succeed in this endeavor, and with your help, I believe we will." People called Loki "Silvertongue" for his negotiation skills, but he had never been one for grandiose speeches, and now he feared that his words might fall flat. "Now," he took a deep breath, "if you have somewhere else to be, you are dismissed."

It wasn't the greatest of rousing calls to action, perhaps, but as everyone stood and began to move, Loki thought it would have to do.


	16. Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki attempts to scry for his father and Völund, with varying success; he and Sif experiment with sky walking, and have a conversation.

"Is it dangerous?" asked Sigyn, once everyone else had gone. Runa had examined Loki, and declared him well enough for the next bit of magic he had to perform; then she and her apprentices had left to prepare for their journey, just as Fandral and Sif had. Now Sigyn and Loki were the only ones left in his chambers.

"I don't think it will be, but I won't take any chances," said Loki. He pulled forth the box containing his father's severed hand. "The people willing to do this would be just as likely to leave all sorts of nasty surprises behind to trip up the unwary."

Sigyn nodded, biting her lip. Every time she did that, it made Loki want to kiss her, so he did, and sighed in contentment when she stepped closer and rested her head on his chest. "May I watch?" she asked.

"There won't be much to see," he replied, shaking his head a little. "I'll be sitting here with my eyes closed for most of it, or else staring at the contents of this box. Which are not pleasant to look upon, I promise you." He kissed the top of her head, and pulled back so he could see her face. "Besides, you are wonderfully distracting, and I fear I must concentrate on this if I am to be successful."

"Hmph. Only you can make 'go away, not now, Sigyn' sound so charming."

"That is not what I am saying, and you know it," said Loki. "You are welcome to stay here, while I retire to my study for a bit."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Not for this," Loki said. "But I would not mind having you here for afterward. I do not look forward to what I must do next. Or, there is one thing."

"What is it?"

"If you wish, you could go to Master Völund's smithy; tell them I am trying to scry his whereabouts and wellbeing, and I need something that belongs to him. It needs to be something he has had for a long time, or ideally something that was once _part_ of him, like stray hair from his pillow, or nail clippings, or something similar. Could you do that for me?"

"It will be a little strange asking for hair as if I were performing a love spell," said Sigyn, and Loki smiled and kissed the tip of her nose.

"I know. But it would be truly helpful to me. And by the time you have returned, I should be finished with this part. I confess, I would be thrilled to see you here when I finish with this unpleasantness."

* * *

 

And it was unpleasant, indeed; Loki, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his study, opened the box, and was assaulted by the sight of his father's own hand, burned and shriveled, the fingers cramped up like claws. There was a smell of ash about the hand, and charred meat, and something acrid that made him swallow in a throat gone dry.

There were runes marked into it, faint, as if something had been painted onto the skin at one point; Loki used a glass rod to turn the hand over without touching it, trying to read all the symbols. About half of them made no sense at all, and Loki wondered if they were intended mainly to look intimidating to a person with no education in magic. The other half were anchors, points of attachment that allowed the other sorcerer's seidr to adhere to the object. They would make it harder for him to unravel the spell, whatever it was, but Loki was not concerned; Mimir had taught him well how to undo his own mistakes, and he had become skilled in the unbinding of all kinds of different magic.

Closing his eyes, Loki opened his senses, and saw with his inner sight the shape of the spell. It was barbed, and he could make out the magical equivalent of a tightly wound trigger-spring; a trap, just as he'd suspected. This one was especially keyed to scrying magic; anyone attempting to use the hand to locate Tyr would trip its metaphorical wires and get a face full of seidr "barbs". There was enough coiled seidr here to permanently blind someone, or rip their own seidr channels apart.

"Not today," Loki murmured, and allowed himself to sink deeper into trance. Meticulously, he created a sticky "mesh" of seidr around the outside of the spell, so that if it were to go off accidentally, the energies would hopefully be caught before they could do harm.

Loki considered whether or not to simply trip the spell and be done with it, but decided against it: if he could unravel the threads and keep them from escaping, he'd have a means of tracing the sorcerer who had placed them. And since this person could hide even from Heimdall's sight, that was an advantage well worth having.

First, the area of greatest tension, the trigger mechanism itself. Slowly, carefully, and with the patience of a heron standing watch in a pond, Loki shifted the coil so that it was "aimed" elsewhere, and then gradually let it stretch, keeping pressure on it but easing the tension slowly, until he was left with a long tendril of sullenly glowing, orange-red seidr. Still with his eyes closed, he reached for a crystal he had set near his knee before beginning, and brought the two together. The thread tried to slip through Loki's fingers and vanish, but as soon as it touched the crystal, it was sucked inside. Loki made certain there was none of his own green-gold energy contaminating the sample, then set the crystal in his lap and returned to the spell.

Bit by bit, methodically, he dismantled the threads wound through and around his father's hand, and one by one he fed them into the crystal. The threads began to coil and twist by the time he was about halfway through, and he wondered if the seidmadr who had cast them was now trying to call them back. No matter; for all the strength of this enchantment, Loki was the more powerful sorcerer, and physically touching the gathered seidr besides; the threads obeyed his will, and eventually there were none left to desecrate Tyr's hand.

He opened his eyes, still in a light trance, and looked at the crystal in his lap. It glowed like an ember, dim and on the verge of being extinguished; when he held it on his open palm, it quivered and rolled over once, of its own accord.

Perfect.

Mimir had taught Loki never to leave one spell unfinished before beginning another, and for the most part he followed his mentor's instruction faithfully, so Loki now stood, wiggling the feeling back into his toes, and crossed to his worktable. A bit of silver wire wound easily about the crystal, and before long he had fashioned the thing into a pendant hanging from a chain. The pendulum swung without his impetus, circling aimlessly for a moment before he coiled up the chain and dropped the entire piece into a little leather pouch inscribed with protective runes.

Outside his study, Loki could hear Sigyn's muffled voice, answered by Fandral a moment later. More time must have passed unraveling the trap spell than Loki had realized, but he still wasn't finished. The whole point of freeing Tyr's hand of its enchantments was to clear the way for scrying his father's location and wellbeing. Like called to like; the hand should still be "attached", magically speaking, to its former owner, despite being separated by such great physical distance.

Unfortunately, however, those efforts were unsuccessful. The hand had been burned, and fire was renowned as a cleanser of magical energies. No matter what type of scrying spell he attempted, there was simply nothing there for Loki to trace back to Tyr.

Loki ran his hands through his hair in frustration, resisting the urge to growl out loud or throw his scrying equipment across the room. He'd been hoping to be able to look in on his father, and that hope had run deeper than he'd realized.

He stood again, thinking that perhaps Sigyn and Fandral would be able to help him clear his head, when his eyes fell on the tafl board that sat in one corner. He and Tyr had played countless games over the centuries, to the point where the original board had worn out; as a Yule gift one year, Tyr had taken the board and had the silver inlay replaced, and bought him a new set of beautifully carved pieces.

 _Gifts_ , thought Loki.

He stepped out into the receiving room, making for a specific curio on one shelf. Absently, he noticed Sif, sitting stiffly in a cushioned chair, with a cup of tea held carefully on her lap. Sigyn and Fandral sat near her.

"Loki? Has all gone well?" asked Fandral.

Rather than answering, Loki picked up the piece, a chunk of raw fire opal from Muspelheim, and headed back into his study.

"Is he always like that?" he heard Sif ask tentatively.

Sigyn answered, but Loki was already closing the door again and didn't care to listen to her reply.

Loki had brought the opal back from Muspelheim personally, and obtaining the piece, even in raw form, had been an adventure in itself. Upon returning to Asgard, he'd taken it to a jeweler, who had looked ready to die of happiness upon seeing it, and commissioned a brooch for his father's cloak. Tyr wore it always, barring the most formal occasions where only fully correct military uniform and insignia were acceptable.

He might not be able to trace his father directly, but he could trace the jewelry the man wore. There was a chance—fairly high, if Loki were to admit it to himself—that Tyr was no longer wearing it, but this should still get him close.

Loki didn't have a hammer and chisel on his worktable, but he did have a mortar and pestle, and with a little effort was able to break off a small piece of the opal. It glowed with its own light, just as its parent piece did and just as he knew Tyr's brooch did still: a cheerful flame-orange, with flecks and inclusions of red and green and even a little purple if the angle was right.

"Now," Loki murmured, "show me your siblings." Cupping the piece in his hands, he held it to his forehead and closed his eyes. Immediately, an image sprang to mind of the larger chunk of opal sitting on his desk. Loki dismissed that and looked a little deeper, following the tendrils of seidr that connected like to like, and before too much longer, he found the brooch.

"There you are…" Scrying was not Loki's strongest skill, magically speaking, but he was able to pull back from the image of the jewel in its setting, widening his view just a little.

It was Kaetilfast's face that greeted him. Loki had not forgotten it, not even after more than three centuries since seeing him last; all his bullying had left something of an impression on the boy Loki had once been. The other man looked angry about something, speaking to a person Loki could not see and gesturing threateningly, but the spell did not allow Loki to hear any sound at all.

With a sharp breath in, Loki dismissed the scrying spell and settled his awareness of seidr. The headache he'd suffered for the past few days was coming back, albeit much milder than it had been. Loki could and certainly would work through the pain, but it wasn't necessary to overexert himself right now.

Wherever Kaetilfast was, Tyr was sure to be as well; scrying for the brooch would work admirably for his purposes. Loki tucked the sliver of stone into a miniature glass bottle to hide its glow, then made another pendant out of it and put it away.

He looked forward to reclaiming the brooch and returning it to his father, right after he slit Kaetilfast's cowardly throat.

* * *

 

Sigyn had been more successful than Loki had hoped; Völund's apprentices were frantic for tidings and prayed for his return, and had gifted her not only hairs from his pillow, but a cleaning rag with a few drops of what they swore was Völund's blood. Loki's attempts to scry him went perfectly, and he was able to turn the hairs into a third talisman with little effort.

"What now?" asked Fandral, while Loki applied himself to the food still left in his receiving room.

"I need to eat before I do anything else," said Loki. "I lost track of how much time had passed while I worked."

"I can see that," said his friend. "You eat like that horse of yours."

"Hmph." Loki gulped down half his goblet of wine and reached for another slice of cold meat. "Once I'm done here, I'll see about taking you to Midgard." He glanced up at Sif. "Would you like to come along?"

Sif had an expression of pure consternation on her face, but all she said was, "If it will not be too difficult."

"Walking is easy," said Loki with a shrug. "I am only uncertain as to whether I can get a person who doesn't use seidr onto the paths and keep them there safely."

"That sounds more difficult than you wish to make it seem," said Sif, perhaps a little belligerently.

Loki caught her eye. "I keep my friends safe," he said, his voice as serious and sincere as he could make it.

"And I am your friend?" she scoffed, and Loki remembered.

"Ah yes," he said. "Forgive me, I had forgotten; amidst all this planning and preparation, there was something else we needed to discuss." He shoved himself back from the table and loosened his tunic, then shifted his shape to his female form.

Sif's eyes widened in complete shock. Her expression almost made Loki laugh, but she thought Sif might not like that very much.

"Ljufa?" she breathed.

"I told you that wasn't my name," said Loki.

"That—that was hundreds—you tricked me!" Sif shot to her feet, the very picture of righteous outrage.

Loki rolled her eyes, an expression Sif had seen thousands of times. "The first time we met, I was there to see my mother. And maybe get a little satisfaction out of knocking you into the dirt," she admitted. "I thought men were not allowed to be near shield maidens, so I shifted my form."

"And that is all?" demanded Sif. "You pretended to become my friend—"

"I pretended nothing, Sif," said Loki. "You became a fairly decent person once your shieldmother beat the arrogance out of you. I respected your skill and enjoyed sparring with you. I was honored when you chose to confide in me, and honored further when you listened to my advice and actually took it to heart. As far as I am concerned, Sif, we _are_ friends. If we weren't, I would have much greater difficulty _trusting_ you to come on this journey and follow my command."

Sif gaped at her, then stood blinking for so long that Loki shifted her form back to male.

"My father's life is at stake, Sif," he said quietly. "If you cannot trust me now, based on a quarrel we once had _hundreds of years_ ago, then stay home. I have no interest in _tricking_ you into following me."

Sigyn moved closer to Loki and took his hand. She squeezed him tightly, and he squeezed back. Fandral, meanwhile, glanced back and forth between him and Sif apprehensively.

"I will go with you," said Sif finally. "I… had wondered why you were speaking so civilly to me, after the last time we saw one another."

"Well, now you know." Loki shrugged. "I have no quarrel with you, so long as you have no grudge against me."

* * *

Loki led them down to the kitchen gardens, which were nearly empty now, nearing sunset as they were.

"So these branches are only in certain places?" asked Sif. "It is not like a spell? You can only reach the one you want if you are in the right location?"

"Yes and no," said Loki. "I can find a branch nearly anywhere, but it's easier to get to my chosen destination if the path is familiar. I have no particular wish to waste time exploring, especially right now, when I can simply take a trail I already know well."

They stopped under the tree where Loki and Mimir had spent countless afternoons, whether it was for practice, for study, or for Loki to listen to one of Mimir's lectures. They'd spilled so much seidr here that it was beginning to affect the tree itself, and he knew the path that left from here like the back of his hand; he could think of no safer place to try this experiment.

"I will only take one of you, until I am certain we can do it, and then I will take both of you," he said. "So who would like to go first?"

Sif and Fandral glanced at one another; Fandral seemed uneasy, so Loki was not surprised when Sif said, "I shall."

He nodded, and held out his hand. "I have no idea what you will see or feel," he warned. "I use seidr, and I am told that things look different though my eyes than they would through yours."

"I understand." She placed her hand in his and took a deep breath. "No worse than practicing blind-fighting, is that not so?"

Loki smiled a little. "We shall see."

Stepping through the openings he perceived was as simple as it had always been, once he'd first learned the knack, but he felt a little resistance when he tried pulling Sif in behind him. Like tugging something through water, there was a drag on her that made it difficult to move her. Still, she came, and they took a few faltering steps onto the path. There was a tug on his hand; Loki looked back over his shoulder to see how she fared.

Sif was panicking. He could hear nothing, here on the paths, but her eyes were wide and blind and her mouth was open and she looked as though she were screaming. She tugged on his hand again, and Loki squeezed; in response, she clutched at him tightly, so tightly he thought she might break his fingers.

The paths were strange, and the only way out was forward, so he had no choice but to take Sif by the wrist and bring her free hand up to his shoulder, and lead her to Midgard.

When they stepped out, she was pale, and sweat had dampened her hair and left it stuck to her temples and the back of her neck. She shook, and glared at him, and said nothing.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"You did that on purpose," she said, panting.

"No."

"You did that on purpose! You hate me, so you let me think we were friends—"

"Sif, _no_! I have never taken anyone on the paths before, and the entire point of this trip was to see whether it was even possible." She still glared, but she was at least listening. "You were the first person _ever_ to come by those paths by my side, and look! Look, we are on Midgard, as I promised you." He pointed at the sky, where Midgard's unmistakable, enormous moon hung in partial phase over their heads. "I have no idea what you heard or saw, but I did not lie to you. For me, I pulled you onto the path, saw that you were in distress, and brought you here as quickly as I could."

Sif was still shaking, but she stood staring at the moon while she composed herself, and Loki let her. "It was nothingness," she said finally, her voice low. "There was nothing to see or hear. It was like all those stories we have heard of… of the Void. I thought—I thought you had decided to take your revenge upon me for calling you a nithing." She sighed, and looked back at him. "You could not have simply taken us back through the doorway to Asgard?"

Loki stepped away from her and ran his fingers through his hair. "The paths work strangely," he said. "Once you set foot upon them, there is no turning back."

Sif jerked her head around to stare at him. "Can we not return to Asgard?"

"Of course! And I will take you there once more as soon as you are calmed. If you think you can manage it," he added. "If not, I suppose we could call for Heimdall."

Sif winced, and looked away. "No," she said. "I said I would go with you. It is not your fault I am weak."

"Weak." Loki raised his eyebrow and gave her a sardonic look when she turned back to him. "You have never done this thing before, so far as I know you are the second person in all the _Realms_ to walk those paths, you have no seidr, and the experience was overwhelming. How does this make you weak?"

Sif did not answer.

"Perhaps it would help you to count the steps," he offered. "Or go with your eyes closed, rather than try to see something that is not there to your sight."

"…Perhaps." She stepped away from him then, staring up at the sky once more. "We are really on Midgard."

"Yes."

Sif nodded. "I am sorry I misjudged you."

"I cannot blame y—"

"I meant before," said Sif. "When I called you a nithing."

Loki shrugged. "I did cut off your hair."

"That was after. And you suffered to replace it." She touched her black locks, tucking a strand behind her ear. "I never thanked you for that. Not sincerely."

Loki shrugged again, uncertain what to say.

"Were it not for you, I would never have become a shieldmaiden," said Sif. "And I have never known how I could thank you for that, either. Now it turns out that you have overcome your grudge and become my friend, and I never knew it."

"To be fair, you were expecting a boy," said Loki. Sif huffed a little laugh. "Were it not for that entire fiasco, I would never have been adopted by General Tyr. I cannot find it in me to be grateful for _everything_ that happened—"

"Nor should you," said Sif with a little shudder. "I was abominable toward you, and your retaliation was well deserved."

"Even so," said Loki. "The Norns wove so that everything turned out for the best for us."

Sif nodded. "I suppose you're right, as always… _Ljufa_."

Loki snorted and rolled his eyes. "Do me a favor and never let Thor hear you use that name. He would never leave me in peace if he knew I could shift my shape."

"Fair enough," said Sif. She took a deep breath. "I am ready to return now."

Loki nodded. "As before; take my hand, and put your other hand on my shoulder. Close your eyes…"

"I am ready."

"Count the steps."

She was still pale and unnerved when they returned to the kitchen garden, but she managed well enough.

"How was it?" asked Fandral.

"Difficult," said Loki, before Sif could answer. "Something is not right. I want to try something else."

"What do you have in mind?"

Loki smiled at his oldest friend. "Sleipnir likes you."

With all the tension Loki felt, the sight of Fandral's eyes widening was probably a little too satisfying.


	17. The Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vekel has another vision and makes a decision; Tyr has visions of his own; Loki and his team make the final preparations.

It was night, and the fire was burning low, and most of Lord Kaet's men were asleep, save for the watchmen and Vekel. Vekel had tried to sleep, had _fallen_ asleep, but now he was awake and nothing could soothe him.

It had started over the evening meal around the fire, the sensation of something scratching at his nerves, like claws down the back of his neck, only on the inside of his skin rather than the outside, and it had made Vekel twitch and jump in his seat. The other Vanir tended not to sit near him anyway, afraid of his power, but when he giggled and scratched long, bloody furrows down his arms and across his shoulders with his too-long nails, they had eyed one another and moved even further away.

And now, hours later, it was still there, worse than before.

Vekel got up and walked off into the jungle, twitching and snapping his teeth at the empty air like a dog, biting back a whimper until he could figure out what the feeling was.

Someone was _touching_ his seidr. It was his, and they were touching it. Where? How?

The spells he'd cast, of course. This wasn't the feel of something tripping his boundary protections. Someone was pulling at the spells that Lord Kaet had made him put on the prisoner's hand before sending it off to Asgard.

He looked about frantically, listening and feeling in the darkness under the jungle canopy, until his senses pointed him toward something warm and living, perched on a branch not too far above him. Vekel crept up underneath it, then with a little hop he flung a spell at the bird, dropping it suffocating and helpless to the earth at his feet.

With a bit of seidr to light his hands as he worked, he drew a knife and slit the bird open from throat to rectum, using his nails to peel the brightly-feathered skin back from bone as the bird quivered, its heart racing wildly in pain and mortal terror.

Well, its suffering would be over soon enough. "Pain is the only thing that is real," he whispered to it, and plucked out the heart between thumb and forefinger and placed it under his tongue. It quivered still, involuntarily now, and Vekel giggled at the sensation of it while he sorted through the remaining internal organs, sending flickers of his seidr across them to see what they had to tell him.

Defeat and death, the same as before. Defeat and death for Lord Kaet. The pretty prince would come back, and that would be that. But for him, for Vekel… oh.

Oh.

The pretty prince would come back, and Vekel could _have him_ ; they would mesh so well. The seidr around Vekel bloomed, and he began to quiver with the vision it brought. The pretty prince would come to Nidhud, looking for the smith whom Nidhud had wanted to keep, and Vekel would be there, and there wouldn't even be a fight.

Vekel could have him. Their energies would mingle and it would be so beautiful, and real. A flame in his breast.

He smiled, in the dark, with bird blood coating his fingernails and dribbling down his chin.

But the threads of his seidr were still being plucked, and they still scratched at Vekel's every nerve ending. He wasn't sure what to do about that; pulling on his own seidr and trying to get it to come back to him didn't work. Perhaps that was all right. Perhaps that was the pretty prince, finding his way to Vekel.

Vekel went back to camp, twitching and occasionally pulling at his hair, and headed for his hammock. Lord Kaet was still awake, and sneered something at him as he walked past, but Lord Kaet was inconsequential. Vekel had already warned him against keeping the Aesir prisoner instead of killing him, and Lord Kaet had not listened, and soon he would die. Lord Kaet could bully Vekel as much as he liked, but nothing was going to change that, and so Vekel did not care what he had to say anymore.

The pretty prince was coming back, and Vekel would get to have him.

* * *

 

Eventually, the plucking stopped, and Vekel calmed. Once Lord Kaet went to bed and the night watch changed, Vekel climbed back out of his hammock and got dressed in every layer of clothing he had, all the way up to his fine robe. There was little he needed to take with him; Nidhud was his king and he would provide. A few magic supplies, of course, but the rest he would leave behind. He veiled himself in shadow and packed his things, and walked out of the camp right past the watchman on duty.

The path he took led down toward the beach, or up and left to the cage where the prisoner was kept. It had been Vekel's cage, but he would never have to sleep in it again. Vekel supposed he ought to be grateful to the prisoner for taking the cage from him. Or possibly Lord Kaet for putting the prisoner in it, but Kaet was inconsequential.

It was a long way to Nidhud, but Vekel had plenty of time; a few moments' delay while he said goodbye to the prisoner would make no difference. So Vekel went up.

The cliffs were barely lit by the stars overhead, and the moons were not yet risen; the path could be treacherous if he were not careful. Still, he made it to the top, and dropped to his knees to look down over the side of the cliff to where the cage had been placed. It was wedged in securely, and not even the waves at high tide had managed to shift it.

The prisoner was just a darker shape within the dark shape of the cage itself. Pity. Vekel had hoped to have a better look at him, but he certainly wasn't going to climb down just to see the prisoner's face. Over the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs far below, Vekel thought he heard the Aesir muttering; his voice was hoarse, but Vekel couldn't make out the words.

Oh, well.

Vekel turned and went down to the beach, to the edge of the sea, and kept walking, right out into the surf.

The water was cold and crept up his robes, but that was no matter. Vekel was not a natural shapeshifter, but he knew a spell that did the trick. A few muttered words and he felt his bones crack and shift, felt the scales creeping over his skin, felt the gills that replaced his lungs and left him gasping for breath until he fell face-first into the water.

The eel-drakes of Vanaheim were notorious for their speed and the length and sharpness of their teeth. Vekel thought he made an especially fine specimen, as he slid through the waves and out into open water. It was no effort at all to shift his senses until he could feel the pull toward Nidhud. He could always find the only blood relative he had left in all the realm. It was easy.

He would return to his king and cousin, and the pretty prince would return to him, and all would be well.

* * *

 

In his lucid moments, Tyr thought he might be dying.

He'd gotten too much seawater into his lungs and the open wounds on his back, whenever the tide was high. The water where it swirled around the rocks was cloudy and impure, scraping his skin with washed up sand and clogging his hair with floating bits of rotting seaweed, and ancestors knew what else. It burned across every inch of his injuries, and he'd choked on enough of it that it hurt now for him to breathe.

Tyr's face was seared from the sun and his eyes swollen nearly shut from the salt; his lips were cracked from thirst. At night he felt the cold down to his very bones, ached with it, and shivered until he was exhausted from it. His legs were cramped from being kept bent inside the cage for so long, and nothing he could do would relieve the ache.

Tyr's back burned, and whenever he shifted, he could feel the wounds on his back reopen.

The stump of his wrist stank with infection, and angry red lines spread from the wound up his arm past his elbow. The screaming agony in what was left of his arm, the pain centered where his hand had been chopped off, had never really subsided. Tyr had simply grown inured to it, numbed through exhaustion and distracted by illness and hunger and thirst.

At night, sometimes he dreamed of his son. _I'm sorry,_ he would try to say, _forgive me, I never meant to get you killed_ , but Loki would not hear him. Once, Loki had stood outside his cage, his feet planted on air, looking through Tyr as if he were not there. He spoke, but Tyr could not make out his words. Tyr had reached for him, had knelt on aching legs and fallen against the bars of the cage, pushing his good hand out and stretching to reach, but Loki had vanished as soon as Tyr had touched him.

He'd no longer had tears with which to weep.

Time moved strangely around him. Sometimes he would close his eyes in the daytime and open them again to sunset, with no awareness of the intervening hours; other times, the minutes seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace, even the waves moving more slowly, down beneath his cage. It was probably because of his illness; Tyr knew that he was sick, the infection creeping up his arm was too obvious to be anything else, and his fever left him with chattering teeth even when the tropical sun beat down on him. The shock of the seawater against his heated skin was usually enough to bring him to wakefulness in time to keep his head out of the water, but it was getting harder and harder to struggle up onto his knees, grasp the door at the top of the cage with his good hand, and press his face against it while waves the crept higher and crashed over his head.

Sometimes he thought he was close enough to death to see Loki's ghost, and other times he thought perhaps the fever was playing tricks on his mind and only showing him what he most wanted to see.

It didn't matter; Loki had died in battle and would go to Valhalla or Volkvangr. He would meet Zisa, Tyr's long-dead wife, and Tyr was certain that they would like one another very much, and hopefully they would spend eternity together. Tyr, meanwhile, would die in this cage, and despite his long years as a warrior, he would end up in Helheim, and never see his loved ones again.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, forcing the words from his parched throat, but no one answered him.

* * *

 

The experiments with Sleipnir had gone well; as long as Sif kept her eyes closed, she said, it was no more unnerving than riding through a dark forest at night. Fandral had been more nervous about riding Sleipnir for the first time than about traveling between the realms, but he had managed just fine as well.

Loki loaded all their supplies into bags that never grew heavier, no matter how full they got, and summoned Runa and her apprentices to his chambers, to join him, Sif, and Fandral. Hoenir and Astrid had joined them.

"One last time," he said, unrolling the map of Vanaheim. "Kaetilfast's camp is located here, on the east side of the island. They are facing Bru, here, due east. If they are not within actual sight of Bru, they will at least be able to see the Bifrost strike when it comes down." He indicated another island, to the north and west of Kaetilfast. "We will take Sleipnir at first light, and come out here if at all possible. It will be sunset in this region of Vanaheim. We will travel by night, and I expect to arrive on Kaetilfast's island within about five hours.

"Healer Runa, you and your apprentices must wait at the Bifrost Observatory. Arrive at _least_ two hours before you expect to depart for Vanaheim, just to be safe. Listen to Heimdall; when he sees us come within striking distance of Kaetilfast's encampment, he will send you to Bru. Your arrival will catch Kaetilfast's attention, but you will be too far away for him to harm you. At best, he'll dispatch spies or scouts to see how many people Asgard has sent this time. We're hoping for that: it will mean his forces are depleted even further by the time Sif, Fandral, and I attack."

"You're really only going to attack with the three of you?"

"Yes," said Loki, eyes hard. "Under cover of night, and with a few tricks up my sleeve. No battle cries, nothing to gain his attention. He will neither see nor hear us coming."

"His sorcerer might," said Runa.

"I can handle the sorcerer."

"He 'handled' _you_ , the last time you met."

Loki nodded. "I haven't forgotten. But now I have a feel for his seidr, and will be able to pinpoint his location. He will not be able to hide from me, no matter what spell he uses. I will take him first, and then Kaetilfast and the rest will have no defense to fall back on."

"There could be traps," said one of the apprentices.

"I am almost certain that there will be," said Loki. "There were the first time we went, and he placed another on Father's hand to prevent anyone from scrying his location." He smiled, a little coldly. "It is only a trap if you are not expecting it."

They all nodded in acceptance.

"What next?" asked Sif.

Loki turned back to the map. "After we have rescued my Father, we will make for Bru. We will collect Runa and her apprentices, and all the supplies they have managed to purchase while they waited for us to come."

"Medical supplies, mainly?" asked Runa.

"Aye, and whatever else you deem fit. And then we will make for King Nidhud, and Master Völund. That journey may last as much as three days, depending on how quickly we are able to travel, but we've packed for nine, so that won't be an issue. Now. According to the soldiers who went with my father the first time, Nidhud was prepared to accept ransom and give Völund back to us. With luck he will not require much persuading this time, either."

"And if he does?" asked Fandral.

"Then I will kill him."

The room fell silent, as everyone stared at Loki.

"Either Nidhud is a weak king who cannot control his men," said Loki, "or everything that has happened, has happened with his permission. Either way, two citizens of Asgard have suffered as a direct result of his actions, and dozens more have been affected indirectly. I feel no compunction against removing him from his position for it."

"Young master," Hoenir began tentatively, "His Highness Thor is being punished for risking war with Vanaheim, by attacking when he did."

"He is being punished because, as crown prince, he represented Asgard, which meant that _Asgard_ attacked, against the All-Father's will." Loki's voice was hard and he glared at them all. "He is also being punished because he led the attack with poor planning that got his men killed and my father maimed in retaliation. With only the three of us and a few healers, it cannot be said that Asgard is behind this attack, nor that the realm is fomenting war. Lest you've forgotten, _Nidhud_ is the one who kidnapped a citizen of Asgard and then turned his back on the ransom negotiations. He will reap what he has sown, and the rest of Vanaheim will not care; they have hundreds of petty kings like Nidhud, constantly warring among themselves. One assassination more or less will hardly be noticed."

"Loki—"

"I don't want to hear it."

"You will hear it anyway," said Sif hotly. "I am not one of your vassals, and neither is Fandral. And we are _not_ going because you've forced us into it. You wanted our input in your plan before, to make sure you did not miss any details or make any mistakes. And I tell you now, just as your seneschal has, that planning to kill Nidhud is a mistake."

"No sense in stirring up a hornet's nest if it isn't necessary," said Fandral quietly, and Runa and Astrid nodded emphatically.

Loki took a breath in through his nose, and gritted his teeth to keep from saying something he would regret. "Fine," he said. "You will have the rest of the journey to try and persuade me otherwise. But if you insist on leaving the vermin alive, then perhaps I will defer to your wishes." That was highly unlikely, but at this point there was no use in arguing.

"I'll remind you that no one is asking you to leave Kaetilfast alive," said Runa, her voice tart. "Nor this sorcerer who attacked you. But Nidhud, so far as we know, did not wish for any of this to happen."

"Fine," said Loki again. "Any objections to the _rest_ of the plan?"

"None," said Sif.

Fandral folded his arms. "None, Loki."

"None, my prince," said Runa.

Hoenir spoke up. "You've done well, young master. Your father would be proud."

The older man's words punctured Loki's anger like nothing else could have. He took a deep breath and let it out, stretching his neck this way and that. "We shall see," he replied finally. "First, we must rescue him and he must survive. Then we shall see if I have done anything to earn his pride.

"Are there any questions?" Everyone else in the room shook their heads, and Loki rolled up the map and made it vanish. "Then my only command to you all for now is to get a good night's sleep. We leave at dawn."


	18. To Vanaheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Sigyn say their farewells; the people of Vingólf with Loki, Sif, and Fandral well; the three make for Vanaheim, and embark on a voyage.

Sigyn spent the night, and it was because of her that Loki was able to get a decent night's sleep, rather than staying up and fretting about every last detail. Now, in the pre-dawn darkness, he kissed her cheek and pulled the blankets up over her so that she would not grow chilled without him beside her.

"I'm not asleep," she murmured, and he smiled.

"I did not wish to wake you," said Loki, just as quietly.

Sigyn's eyes opened, and she looked up at him with a sleepy glare. "If you tell me you had planned to leave without saying goodbye…"

"I didn't wish to disturb your rest," he said, "but you're right. I wasn't thinking." They kissed, and when he pulled away, he said, "The Vanir are nowhere near as frightening as you when I have displeased you."

"Hmph. I think you simply do not care about displeasing them as much as you do about me."

Loki sobered, still trailing one hand down her side. "That is very true."

Sigyn reached up with both hands and dragged her fingers through Loki's hair, scratching at his scalp. "Go well. Go quickly. Return soon, and return victorious. But for my sake, do not be a hero."

Loki had leaned into her touch, his eyes closing, but now he looked down at her. "I think we both know I am not a hero as Asgard would measure such things."

"You know what I mean," said Sigyn. "Do what you must, but no more than that. Do not get yourself killed in a foolish quest for glory."

"You need have no fear on that score," Loki replied. "I go for Father, and for vengeance, and there will be nothing glorious about it. For one thing, heroics are much less _quiet_ than I intend to be on this mission."

"Hm." She leaned up, and kissed him again, and he wished for just a moment that he could stay here and sink into her embrace. "Go well," she said again. "Return to me."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "I shall," he said, then pulled away and climbed out of bed to get dressed.

* * *

 

Loki was the first to arrive at the courtyard, apart from the grooms, who were gathered around Sleipnir and putting the finishing touches on his harness. The stallion wore his war saddle, Loki saw with approval; it was built high in both pommel and cantle, with thickened knee rolls to help hold the legs in place. There were rings affixed all around the saddle, usually used for securing saddle bags or extra weapons, but where one could also attach a rope, or strap in a rider who was too wounded to stay in the saddle on his own.

Loki hoped he wouldn't need them, for Tyr.

Sleipnir had a longer body than most horses, to accommodate his extra legs, and that meant that the saddle pad for his war rig could be longer, too. If they had to, Loki was fairly certain he and Tyr could both ride, and Loki could keep him upright in the saddle while he rode pillion behind. For crossing the paths between realms, it should easily fit both Fandral and Sif while Loki led them to Vanaheim.

Loki himself was dressed in armor that Tyr had specially commissioned for him, after Loki had completed his training with Geirny the Thief. In addition to the usual sword belt and knife sheath, there were hidden pockets and additional sheaths all down Loki's arms, legs, and across his back and torso. He had secreted all of Völund's throwing knives in them, and many other weapons besides. The entire harness was crafted all of black leather and dulled metal, with nothing to shine or reflect firelight in the darkness. The leather had been oiled until it was as soft as Sigyn's hands, and would not creak, and the metal that protected his joints was just as well kept. In any other suit of armor, it would be impossible to move silently, but Loki had trained in this harness, and practiced under Geirny's supervision, and she'd declared that he was the closest thing to a ghost of any fighter she'd met.

No honorable warrior of Asgard would wish to be seen in a harness like this. It was assassin's armor, and Geirny, Tyr, and Loki all knew it. Loki wasn't entirely certain that Tyr himself approved, and he had no idea if Fandral had ever even seen it.

Loki didn't care. Loki would, in fact, let himself be publicly shamed for it by Odin himself and all his court, and never speak a word of complaint, so long as he got his father back.

Speaking of Fandral, Loki could hear him and Sif on the other side of the courtyard, their voices low but still audible in the silence before the sunrise.

"Good morrow," he said when they were close enough. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough," said Fandral, while Sif nodded and looked him up and down. "You?"

Loki's hands flexed, inside his gloves. "Well enough."

The sky was only just beginning to lighten, and the moment didn't seem to lend itself to much conversation. Loki busied himself collecting everyone's extra bags and attaching them to Sleipnir's saddle. They each would carry at least one satchel of their own, of course, and once they arrived at Vanaheim, Sleipnir would not need to carry any of it; for now, however, it made their preparations just that little bit easier.

Sif was still studying his outfit as he worked; Loki braced for some kind of insult, but all she said was, "Interesting gear."

"As I said yesterday," replied Loki, a little stiffly. "Knife in the dark."

Sif only nodded. "This looks well-suited for it."

Loki turned and frowned at her, but she only shrugged.

"Young master?"

Loki looked up from his work, and turned in surprise. Hoenir stood a few paces away, along with Astrid, Olief, Master Torfi, and… nearly every servant in Vingólf, actually.

"What is this?"

"We're here to see you off, of course," said Astrin. "You're going to bring General Tyr home."

"Our luck and blessings go with you, lad," said Olief, and he stepped forward with a parcel that was warm in Loki's hands and smelled of fresh baking. "Lads," he corrected himself, looking at Fandral and Sif. "And lass."

"Thank you," said Sif.

"I can only hope we will succeed," said Loki.

"You will," said Master Torfi, patting Sleipnir's neck. "With this one at your side? Not a chance you'll fail."

"You go with your friends, and with skills no one on Vanaheim will know to look for," said Hoenir.

Astrid stepped forward, and held up three pendants: tiny leather pouches on long strings. "And you go with our prayers, and as Olief said, our blessings and all the luck we can muster. They're hearth magic," she explained. "Nothing like what you do, but it may be that they make a difference."

She stepped closer, and held one up, and Fandral ducked his head to let her place the amulet around his neck. Sif was next, and then Loki, who found himself inexplicably blinking back tears as she draped the pendant around his neck, and finished with a kiss to his cheek. "You come home to us, young man," she admonished. "You bring the general home. But even if… even if you can't, then you come home yourself. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mistress Astrid." What else could Loki say, when confronted with all these people who cared for his father as much as he did? Who cared for Loki, and showed it in a thousand little ways? "Thank you." He lifted his head to take in the gathered crowd. "Thank all of you," he said, a little louder. "We will do everything in our power to save my father, and Master Völund, and come home safely. You have my solemn vow."

"And mine," said Fandral.

"And mine," added Sif.

 In the back of the crowd, he spotted Sigyn, standing demurely in the doorway. Their eyes met, and she kissed her hand, then held it out to him as if in offering. Loki held up his own hand and pretended to catch her kiss from midair, then held it to his heart in a semblance of the Aesir salute.

Several in the crowd saluted him in return.

"Thank you all," he said again, then turned to Sif and Fandral. "We go."

No one cheered as he led Sleipnir out through the entrance tunnel that cut through the ancient earthworks surrounding Vingólf, but no one had to. The sun cleared the horizon just as they stepped into Sleipnir's pasture, and the birds burst into song like the Norns' own blessing.

Sif and Fandral mounted Sleipnir, and clutched the saddle tight.

"Close your eyes," Loki reminded them, and then he stepped out of the world and onto the paths between the realms.

* * *

 

It was night, and it was _loud,_ when they emerged on Vanaheim. The jungle around them was filled with a chorus of insects, and frogs, and who knew what other kinds of animals. A light rain pattered down on the heavy leaves overhead, and in the distance they could hear the ocean, ever-present on the realm, crashing its challenge to them against the shore.

"Are you both all right?" asked Loki, as Sif and Fandral sat staring about them.

"I will never grow accustomed to that," said Fandral, sliding out of the saddle and landing with shaky legs. "I always knew you were mad, but now I understand that you're _truly_ mad."

"It is unsettling," agreed Sif. She dismounted a bit more smoothly than Fandral had. "What do we do next?"

"This way." Loki had visited this island dozens of times and new this clearing and this path well enough to travel them in any condition: wounded, hung over, half asleep. Alert and in darkness was nothing.

He led them out of the jungle, a few minutes' walk, with Sleipnir tossing his head impatiently behind him. He clicked his tongue and patted Sleipnir soothingly, and before long they all came out onto a broad, sandy beach. One of Vanaheim's moons was visible, and the tide was up slightly but not as high as Loki had seen it in the past.

With a gesture, he brought forth the bundle of twigs that he had shown Sif and Fandral in their planning meeting.

"Are you going to tell us what that is for, now?" asked Sif.

"Of course." He knelt and set it down on the sand, then began to manipulate it. A pull here, an unfolding there, and gradually it began to grow, larger and larger, until the shape of a boat was clearly visible.

"Oops," he said. "We're a little too far up. Help me bring her down to the water."

Sif's jaw was hanging open. "This is the… from the Thing! The night I became a shieldmaiden's student!"

Loki looked up, grinning. "Her name is Skidbladnir," he said. "Made by the sons of Ivaldi, themselves." He clambered inside the hull and continued unfolding and expanding, pulling planks out of seemingly nowhere to make rowing benches, and unrolling a series of twigs that became full-length oars, six on each side. With a grunt, he shoved upward, and a mast extended itself and settled into its socket. Finally, he stepped toward the bow, bent down, and lifted, and a beautifully sculpted dragon head folded up from the bow and snapped into place.

"That… this is…" Fandral was shaking his head and pacing outside the boat, around and around. "She's beautiful. I mean, I didn't exactly grow up in a fishing village, but I know boats."

"I know. It's one reason I'm glad you're along; you're one of the best skiff pilots I know."

Fandral shook his head again. "She's beautiful."

"A full-size snekkja," said Sif.

"We'll need to row her out past the breakers," said Loki, "and that might be difficult with only the three of us. But after that, we can hoist sail, and she's enchanted to always find favorable wind and to stay afloat no matter how rough the seas."

"Which way will we sail?"

In answer, Loki pulled the three amulets he'd made out of his satchel, along with a copper bowl. He filled the bowl with clean sand, and set the amulets inside in the center. With a muttered word to direct his seidr, the three amulets began to glow: one red, one flame-orange, and one green. After another moment, the each began to move, inching across the sand in different directions. The green and red amulets ended up next to one another on one side of the bowl, while the orange sat alone, about a third of the way around, and closer to the center than the others.

"Interesting," said Loki.

"What is it?" Fandral and Sif had both knelt down to watch.

"The green is my seidr, on something that belonged to Master Völund. We know that he is with Nidhud, somewhere in the Thousand Suns archipelago. The red is seidr that belongs to Kaetilfast's sorcerer. He must have left Kaetilfast, because now he is in the same direction as Master Völund."

"And the orange?" asked Sif.

Loki looked up at them both, his teeth flashing in the dark as he grinned fiercely. "Something that belongs to my father."

He climbed into the snekkja and set the bowl down carefully, near the rudder, then hopped out again. "Let's get her into the water."

"What about Sleipnir?" asked Fandral.

"He will come with us, but it will be easier to get him aboard once Skidbladnir is afloat."

"And he'll tolerate that?" asked Sif. "That horse is almost as big as the boat!"

"No, he isn't. He's never done it before, but he'll be fine. Won't you, silly creature?" Sleipnir stepped forward and butted his huge head against Loki's chest, pushing him back a step. "That's right. You'll be fine." Loki looked up at them, holding back a grin so that it came out as a smirk. "Sleipnir trusts me, Sif. You should try it."

"Don't bait me," she said. "It was a perfectly reasonable question."

It was; Loki nodded, and looked away. "Let's get her into the water," he said again.

Skidbladnir was incredibly lightweight for her size; it was the work of moments to slide her down the sand and introduce her bow to the waves. Sif and Fandral hopped aboard and made for the oars, and Loki knelt down where they could not see and took off his gloves.

He dipped one hand into the water, took a deep breath, and let his Jotun nature slip out, just a little. The water in front of him quickly froze solid, making a gangplank toward the side of the boat. He was able to shape it so that the ice ramped up along the side for Sleipnir, but curved gracefully below the water so that the snekkja would not be damaged from bumping into it.

"Here we come," he said, pulling his gloves back on, and led Sleipnir aboard. The great horse stepped delicately across the ice, his ears showing curiosity but not fear. His extra legs let him balance and come aboard without having to jump over the gunwale. "Good boy. Good Sleipnir, yes. That's it. Come lie down, now." The great horse placed himself near the bow, out of everyone's way, and folded his many legs under his body as he settled in.

With a gesture, Loki dismissed the ice, then moved to the rudder. "All right," he called; Sif and Fandral leaned their weight into the oars and heaved, and the boat fairly leapt forward, slicing through the waves like a knife. They cleared the surf faster than Loki would have believed possible, and before long he was calling "Ship oars!" and moving toward the pulleys to help hoist the sail.

"How do you want us to trim it?" Fandral grunted, pulling back on one of the ropes until his back was nearly parallel with the deck.

"We're aiming roughly that way," said Loki, pointing out over the dark water.

"Hope there isn't anything between us and our destination," Sif put in.

"Maps didn't show anything, but I'll put one of you on lookout once we're underway." He moved back to the rudder and consulted the copper bowl with the three amulets. As he steered, they rolled across the sand in the bowl, until the orange bit of Muspelheim opal was directly in front of him. "Fix the sail there," he called.

The boat began to move, faster and faster until it seemed they were barely skimming the tops of the waves. The ropes fairly hummed with the strength of the wind moving through them, and they left a trail of spray in their wake. Loki began to grin, then to laugh in triumph.

"Just how fast does this thing go?" demanded Sif, clutching to the gunwale and dropping to her knees for balance.

"I don't know!" he answered. "This is her maiden voyage!"

" _What?!_ "

Loki laughed again, and whooped as Skidbladnir kissed the waves and moved forward even faster.

* * *

 

It soon became clear that Sif and Fandral were not needed to trim the sail or make even minor adjustments, so they moved to the stern to join Loki at the rudder. "How will you be able to tell when we get closer?" asked Fandral. "I like piloting the skiffs and everything, but it's not like I have ever done so in complete darkness."

"I agree," said Sif. "At these speeds, all it would take is one surprise boulder sticking up out of the water. Or another ship. We'd all be dead before we even reach your father."

"I thought of that," said Loki. "I don't know how much warning they'll give us, but I've placed wards around the hull that should alert us if anything gets too near." He indicated a spot along one side of the hull that was glowing dimly. "That's probably a ship in the distance. The brighter the light gets, the closer the obstacle."

"We'll want to worry about anything that lights up the bow, then," said Fandral.

"Aye, and assume we need to heel over quick," said Sif. She nodded toward the glow, watching as it moved slowly toward the stern of the ship, fading as it went.

"Actually, we won't," said Loki. They looked back at him sharply, but he was studying the bowl at his feet, where the orange amulet had begun to move noticeably closer to the center of the sand. "We're almost there already."

"The bow just lit up," said Sif.

"Think that's our island?" asked Fandral.

"Let's assume it is. Damn," said Loki.

"What is it?"

"The healers won't be ready to move yet. We were too fast." Loki dragged his fingers across his bottom lip. "We won't have them as a decoy, but that might be for the best. Kaetilfast won't know we're coming."

"And if his camp was facing the island of Bru anyway…" began Sif.

"It was."

"Then the Bifrost won't draw their attention right toward us."

Loki nodded sharply. "Good point."

"Loki, the light in the bow is getting brighter," said Fandral.

"Come take the rudder," said Loki; "you're the better pilot." He glanced down at the bowl again, and nodded. The red and green amulets had shifted a little around the perimeter of the bowl, but the orange amulet was nearly to the center.  "This is it. Sif, help me drop the sail."

The snekkja seemed to understand their need, for she slowed of her own accord, almost to a crawl, before they had the sail all the way down. They worked in silence as best they could, rolling up the canvas and tying it to the yardarm, lifting up deck boards to stow the entire thing out of the way.

Starlight and moonlight showed them vague shapes in the darkness; the hull began to glow all along the bow and one side, as they passed boulders along the outer boundary of the island. Sleipnir whickered at them from the bow, but there was no other noise as they took to the oars, and Fandral guided them in.


	19. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Co. arrive at Kaetilfasts's island and split up; Loki rescues Tyr.

They skirted the boundaries of the island, searching for a place to land among the boulders and outcroppings of rock, until Fandral spotted the Vanir ship at anchor, just a little ways out from a tiny beach that reflected brightly with sand, even in the dim moonlight.

"I think that's our best bet," he said, pitching his voice as low as he could. Loki and Sif leaned into the oars, wheeling the snekkja around silently as they passed the other ship. There was neither sound nor light aboard her, and Loki could only hope that they hadn't left a guard to raise the alarm.

They shipped the oars once they were aimed at the little cove, letting the surf bring them in the rest of the way. Skidbladnir was light enough that they were able to beach her easily.

"Wait here," said Loki.

"If they've spotted us…" warned Sif.

"If they have, it's already too late," said Fandral. "And we'd have heard the alarm."

"Maybe."

"I think we're still safe," said Loki. "I'm about to do something to make sure we stay that way." Loki closed his eyes and reached out with his arms, feeling the weather, the chill and the damp and the ocean all around him. Whispering his intent, shaping the seidr delicately, carefully, he released a spell that spread out around them in a gentle, drifting arc.

Fog began to rise, in faint wisps at first, curling about their ship and rolling inland, gradually growing thicker as it went. Before long, the trees at the edge of the beach were shrouded in mist, and it continued to thicken.

He opened his eyes to see his friends sweeping the area with frowns on their faces. "They may not be able to see us," said Sif, "but we won't be able to see them, either."

"I'll have another spell that will enable us to spot them in the dark," said Loki. "But in the meantime, the fog needs to build up naturally, so we'll give this time to work, while I find Father and bring him back, and then we'll strike."

"I dislike waiting when they might already know we're here," said Sif.

"I understand. But remember, they had a sorcerer here until recently, and we've learned that he likes to leave traps on things. We wouldn't be able to charge in and slaughter everyone, even if it were clear."

The fog had grown even thicker while he spoke, billowing past them and wisping with every breath they took, and now it was nearly impossible to see more than a few paces in front of them.

"Heimdall, wait for my signal. Do not send the healers yet."

"You think we should just wait here?" asked Fandral dubiously.

"No," said Loki. "I want you to sabotage that ship. It might be guarded, or they may have left it alone, but I want it impossible to sail by the time I come back. Cut every rope, slit the sails, chop holes in the hull with a hatchet if you can. They won't be able to chase us, if we are unable to make a quiet escape."

"As fast as we are, they wouldn't be able to chase us anyway," Sif pointed out.

"You're probably right, but I don't want to take chances." Loki glanced back and forth between them, an edge to his voice. "Should all three of us go, just in case, and then find my father afterward?"

"Might be safer than splitting up," said Fandral.

Sif actually snorted a little at that. "You're not wrong, Fandral, but Loki, I don't think you'd be able to focus on sabotage, now that we're within reach of General Tyr," she said. "I can hear it in your voice, you don't really want to come with us."

"I will if I have to," Loki protested.

"But you're right, you _don't_ have to," said Sif with a shrug. "You said there are probably magical traps on the island anyway. You go. We'll do this, while you take care of making the way safe for us."

Loki let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Thank you." The fog was thick enough now that he felt safe climbing out of the boat, and the three of them pulled Skidbladnir farther up onto the sand. The boat must have had even more enchantments than the dwarfs had told him, because even Sleipnir's weight was hardly felt as they moved the snekkja into position.

Rather than create a simple gangplank out of ice this time, Loki froze everything in the little inlet, reaching spikes of ice upward to completely encase the Vanir ship's hull.

"Think you'll be able to climb that?" he asked when he was done.

"Let's find out." Fandral thumped one fist on Loki's armored shoulder. "Good hunting," he said, then he and Sif stepped out onto the ice. Within five paces, they had vanished completely into the fog.

"Sleipnir, come." The horse, in addition to his extra legs, seemed to have been born with extra brains as well; training him had been an amazing experience as the horse soaked up everything he was taught and went looking for more. "Let's find Tyr," Loki whispered in his ear. Sleipnir's breath steamed in the chill air and stirred the fog. His hooves were silent in the sand as they stepped tentatively forward. If Heimdall had seen accurately, there should be a cliff nearby with a path that led to the top, and from there he would have to climb, in the dark, down the cliffside to get to the cage where his father was kept.

A cage. For the second-most powerful man in Asgard. For Loki's _father_.

The anger he'd been holding at bay ever since Tyr's hand had been delivered to Asgard began to well up, and he took a deep breath to try and control it. Now was not the time to let his emotions get away from him. Now was when he needed to be his most cautious, his most sly and silent. Going on a rampage could wait until later, when his father was safe. Besides, he was meant to be looking for magical traps and tripwires while he sought his father.

Sleipnir whickered, low in his throat, and made his way to the side of the little beach. Loki patted his neck to quiet him and followed alongside, silent as a ghost. The trail began to climb, and to his right Loki could hear the surf crashing against the rocks. There was nothing obvious to his senses along this path, although he could detect a bit of faint seidr humming a little farther into the jungle, where the camp was most likely located. Good; he could deal with that later.

At the top of the trail, he pulled Sleipnir to a halt, and sent his senses out again, searching for any closer traps or other magical energy. There was nothing dangerous on this path, but over the side of the cliff he could feel a null spot, a place where the energies refused to flow. Reaching a little farther, he could make out a shape like a deformed, crushed box, the sides bent inward to fit between two boulders.

"Sleipnir, _stand_ ," whispered Loki. He uncoiled a length of rope from behind the saddle and fastened it tightly to the pommel. "Stand," he repeated, tugging on the knot, then leaning his full weight against it.

With a breath and a gesture, he pushed the fog back from the cliff face, then tossed the free end of the rope over the side and began to climb down.

The cliff face was slippery and damp, but still sharp enough that he could feel the edges of the rock digging into the soft soles of his boots. Still, the rope and Sleipnir's sturdy support meant that he made it down to the cage relatively easily.

The thing had wheels on it, but they'd stood it up on end so that they, and the solid floor of the cage, faced backward into the cliff. That left the door on top, and Tyr exposed to the waves that came at him whenever the tide rose. Even now, the surf was almost level with the bottom of the cage, and occasional waves splashed up and threw spray onto them both. Tyr was nothing more than a huddled, dark shape, slumped in the corner.

"Father?" he called, as loudly as he dared. "Father!"

There was no answer. Loki landed on the door of the cage, the boulders looming overhead on either side, then scrambled down the sides, wedged in beside the rock for safety, until he was clinging like a squirrel to the bars nearest his father. He reached through them and felt a tingling numbness creep up his wrist as his magic was annulled. He snatched his hand back, and to his relief the feeling receded immediately.

He reached back inside, ignoring the numbness and shaking Tyr's shoulder. "Father."

The man was shivering, Loki could hear his teeth chattering, but he was also burning with fever. Loki could feel the heat of it even through his glove. "Father! Father, please."

In the dim light, Loki saw Tyr lift his head; the other man groaned, a pitiful, cracked sound, and Loki squeezed his shoulder convulsively.

"Father, _look at me_."

"L-loki?" The word was so slurred, Loki himself could barely make it out. "Loki?"

"I'm here, Father. I came for you."

"I'm so sorry…" Tyr whispered. He reached up and out, and Loki twitched, swallowing a gasp as he saw the truncated arm where a hand used to be. He'd known, of course he'd known, but seeing it in person like this made it seem all the more real, and horrible. Tyr did not seem to notice it, however. "You died. M-my fault. 'M so sorry."

"Father, no. No, I didn't die. I'm here. I'm _real_." He touched Tyr's face, the tingling numbness creeping a little farther up his arm, and lifted his father's chin. "Come, look at me. I'm _here_."

Swollen eyes barely managed to crack further open, and horribly, Tyr smiled at him. "There you are. You look well. Not… not spoken, before. Or I couldn' hear you. I must be close."

That was exactly what Loki was afraid of.

"My son…" His voice dropped, and Loki strained closer to hear him. "Tell me, my son. Have you met Zisa? Have you seen her?"

"No, Father, I haven't. Please. I've come to take you home."

Tyr smiled again. "Thought I was… f'r Helheim… Which will it be? Valhalla, or Volkvangr?"

" _Asgard!_ " Tears rolled down Loki's face, and he did not care enough to wipe them away. "Your fever plays tricks on you, Father. I am _here_."

A wave crashed up and drenched them both, making the sides of the cage slippery. Loki adjusted his grip, then reached for his father's good hand. He tugged until Tyr gave way, and brought his fingers up to touch Loki's throat above his armor. " _Feel_ me, Father. My heart beats. I _live_. And so do you, and I have come to bring you _home_."

There was an eternity in the space between that word and when Tyr next spoke. Loki held his breath, feeling his heart pound and his neck throb under his father's fingertips. But at long last, he saw Tyr's jaw drop, and his eyebrows climb, as he fought to open his eyes a little further, and he breathed, " _Loki?_ " in a tone of such incredulous hope that Loki nearly broke to hear it.

"I'm here, Father. I'm here."

"Loki…" Weakly, Tyr squeezed his hand, and Loki squeezed back, as hard as he could. His father's breath hitched, and Loki thought he might actually be trying not to weep.

"Just hang on, Father. Only a little longer, and I will have you out of there."

He hauled himself up, back to the top of the cage, not missing how Tyr turned his head to follow his progress. The lock was easy to find, and Loki quickly slipped his set of lock picks out of his vambrace. At first, he worried that the lock would be enchanted in some fashion, the way the cage clearly was, but the picks slipped in easily and did their work. It was dark, but then this wasn't exactly a skill that required eyesight to accomplish.

The click of the mechanism releasing sounded unnaturally loud, even over the noise of the surf. Loki worked the lock free of the clasp, bared his teeth, and hurled the thing out to sea with all his strength.

Next he gestured, and brought forth a bottle of oil. Geirny's voice echoed in his head from those long-ago lessons: _"I don't care if you watched your mark oil the hinges that very morning, when it's your turn to open the door, you oil it again, understand?"_

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered under his breath, dousing the hinges liberally. As an afterthought, he moved around the edge of the cage door, shifting his feet out of the way, and oiled it completely. Sitting here in the salt air had likely done the metal no favors, and he did _not_ need the squealing of a rusted door to call any attention to them.

It took a few pulls, but Loki yanked and threw his full weight into it, and eventually the cage door gave way. He wrestled it open, the thing still fighting him even with all the oil he'd poured on it, and propped it against the boulder when it was open as far as it could go.

"Father, take my hand. Can you stand?"

Tyr struggled up onto his knees, clutching at the open hatch for balance. "I'm… not sure." He winced, then grunted in pain as he tried to get his feet under him. Finally he shook his head. "Legs are seizing up."

"Take my hands—or, let me take your arms." He was careful of Tyr's maimed wrist, only grasping it above the elbow, but his father still cried out in pain and dropped back. "I'm sorry!"

"Nnn… not your f-fault," said Tyr. He bared his teeth, and took a breath. "Pull."

His father was not a small man, but Loki was as strong as any Aesir, and motivated besides. It was a struggle, but before long they had Tyr sitting on the outside of the cage, his legs dangling inside, panting weakly and shivering in the chill air. He leaned against the boulders that wedged his prison in place above the water, clearly exhausted.

Loki reached for his water skin, and held it while Tyr drank. His thirst was obvious, but he was only able to manage a few swallows before he dropped his head back against the stone.

"You're not going to be able to make the climb, are you," said Loki lowly. He cursed himself inwardly, trying to keep his upset off his face. He'd thought he had planned for everything, but hadn't accounted for this. His father's arm being useless, yes, but not his legs. Injury, yes, but not debilitating sickness. And he'd _known,_ Heimdall had told him!

"Loki?"

"Yes, Father."

"You're really here? 'S not a trick… you're not a ghost?"

There was almost no room to maneuver with the two of them perched on the battered cage as they were, but Loki managed to slide closer, and get his arms around his father's neck. "I'm here."

"They told me you were dead," Tyr sighed. "Heard th' battle. There was no body, but their sorcerer is strong." Tyr actually bent his head forward to rest on Loki's shoulder. "Told me you were dead."

"I'm so sorry."

"No need," said Tyr. He lifted his head, and his smile was wolfish; Loki could see just a hint of the warrior his father was, still present even in the face of injury and sickness. "I avenged you."

"Kaetilfast?" Loki knew the scum still lived, Heimdall and his scrying had both shown him that, but perhaps he was not at his full strength either.

To Loki's disappointment, Tyr shook his head. "He gave me this," he said, and held up the stump of his wrist.

The world stopped. The waves in the ocean stopped crashing, the stars stopped their slow wheel overhead, and Loki's heart and breath froze in his chest.

They'd cut off his father's hand, because Tyr had attacked them. He'd attacked them, because they'd told him Loki was dead.

They'd told him Loki was dead, because Loki hadn't been able to see the sorcerer's attack in time.

It was his fault.

_It was his fault._

Behind them, the earth rumbled, and small pebbles clattered down the cliff face. Loki quickly got his seidr under control before he announced their presence to all of Vanaheim.

He was going to _slaughter_ Kaetilfast and everyone in this accursed encampment… but that would have to wait until his father was safe.

More pebbles rained down, and Loki frowned. "I have an idea," he said. He felt around in the darkness and found their rope, slack against the stone and dangling along the side of the cage. The climb hadn't been very long; he should have enough slack to do what he had in mind.

"Father, do you think you could climb if I helped pull you up?" He held up the slack rope. "I can rig a harness for you."

"Legs're starting to stretch a bit," said Tyr. "I've… not much strength, though."

"I'll climb beside you," said Loki. "I will stay with you the entire time. Sleipnir can pull you up."

"You brought Sleipnir?" Tyr's eyebrows went up, and he smiled tiredly.

"All of Vingólf wanted to come," Loki replied. "I had to narrow down my choices a bit."

Tyr smiled wider, but only for a moment before he began to slump, his head lolling forward.

"Father? Father!"

The man jolted and groaned, barely managing to open his eyes. "Tired…" he breathed.

"I know, Father. Just a little longer, and then you can rest. _Really_ rest."

"Is there more water?"

Loki held up the water skin, and this time he held his father's head steady while he drank. When Tyr was done, he put the skin back on his belt and held up the rope. "Are you ready?"

"Close enough," said Tyr.

Loki worked quickly, but still tried to handle his father as gently as he could, shifting him as little as possible while he wrapped rope around his hips, his waist, between his legs, and once more around his chest. There was just barely enough rope to do what Loki had had in mind, but the knots held when he tested them.

He leaned over to the cliff and put a hand on it. The stone rumbled again, only this time Loki controlled his seidr and caused hand and footholds to jut out from the cliff face, evenly spaced and easy enough for a child to grip.

He could only hope they would be easy enough for his father, in his current condition.

Next, Loki sent a double up to the top of the cliff. "Sleipnir," he whispered. "Good boy, Sleipnir. Come with me… that's it. Come." The horse obeyed readily, and Loki's double led him toward a nearby tree and around it, and then back down the path toward the beach. The rope pulled taut, and Loki climbed beside his father and boosted him toward the cliff face.

"I'll be right behind you, Father," he said. "Just place your feet… can you see?"

"Aye," said Tyr. He sounded so exhausted that it hurt Loki's heart to hear. "Do m'best."

"You can rest soon, Father," promised Loki.

Little by little, Loki's double led Sleipnir down the hill. The rope slid around the tree trunk and hoisted Tyr up smoothly; Loki himself helped Tyr place his bare feet on each little step, and  did what he could to support Tyr's weight when Tyr could not.

The climb seemed to take forever, but it was probably only a few minutes, maybe even less, before they were at the top. Loki's double stopped Sleipnir, praising him quietly, while Loki himself quickly clambered over the edge of the cliff and pulled his father forward. Tyr groaned at the strain, gritting his teeth against crying out, then lay on the earth limply when he cleared the top. Quickly, Loki's double led Sleipnir back to the cliff, then Loki dispelled the double and patted his horse on the neck.

"Well done. Good boy. Now, down, Sleipnir. _Down._ "

The great stallion folded his many legs and settled on the earth, right next to Tyr.

"Father?"

"Mm."

"We're almost there, Father. Only a short ride down the hill, I swear it."

Tyr nodded heavily, then began pushing himself upright on his good arm, which trembled in weakness and fatigue. Loki did not bother to remove the rope harness yet, just assisting his father into the saddle. Tyr moved as though every muscle ached, and Loki ached with him.

"Brace yourself, Father," he said quietly, then gave Sleipnir the signal to rise. It was a near thing, but Tyr managed to keep his seat, and they made their way down the hillside and toward freedom.

* * *

 

Fandral and Sif were waiting for them beside Skidbladnir, weapons drawn, and both jumped when he, Sleipnir, and Tyr appeared out of the thick fog. Sif was the first to lower her blade.

"Any trouble?"

Loki shook his head. "Nothing of consequence." He glanced up at his father, who seemed now only semi-conscious at best. "Help me get him into the boat."

They put Tyr near the mast, and wrapped him in Loki's cloak, which had an enchantment on it to keep its wearer warm and dry no matter the weather. Tyr sighed heavily, and fell deeper into sleep. Loki ran his fingers through his father's hair, then forced himself to pull away. "How was your expedition?"

"Easy as flowers in springtime," said Fandral, his teeth flashing in the darkness. "There was one guard, but he was asleep when we boarded."

Loki looked up sharply. "And now?"

"He'll not wake," said Sif grimly, lifting her blade.

Fandral's grin faded; he swallowed and glanced away. "It… we're always taught that battle is meant to be an honorable fight, foe to foe, even if it doesn't always work out that way. I don't have any quarrel with what Sif did, I just…" He glanced at his feet. "I couldn't do it."

"It was necessary," said Sif.

"I know!"

Loki gripped Fandral's shoulder, and he subsided. "It's the first true battle for all of us," he said. "As long as you keep yourself alive and defend those who can't defend themselves, you're doing it right."

Fandral's breath gusted out, swirling in the fog as he sighed. "First blood to Sif, then," he said, then met Loki's eye. "What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"We've at least trained to be warriors," said Fandral, gesturing between himself and Sif. "I don't doubt your bravery, Loki, you know that, but… you're a seidmadr more than a warrior, and it'll be your first battle too."

Loki glanced over his shoulder at where Tyr lay, deeply asleep; remembered his words, _"I avenged you."_

"I don't think I'll have any problems," he said grimly.


	20. The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's possible that I may be wringing my hands together over this one a little bit. You've all been anticipating it for a long time, and I _really_ hope it lives up to expectations.

Loki looked back up the beach to where the tree line lay hidden in the fog. "You two stay here with my father; Heimdall, await my signal," he said, and began to walk away.

"What?!" Fandral leaped forward and grabbed Loki's arm, spinning him around. He only barely managed to keep his voice down as Loki glared at him. "You cannot mean to go in there on your own—that's exactly the sort of mad thing your heroic brother would do!"

"Someone has to stay with Father!"

"And someone has to make sure _you_ don't get _killed_."

"I won't." Loki jerked his arm away. "I spotted some of those magical traps we talked about, while I was climbing the trail to my father, but I was too far away to do anything about them. I need to dismantle those before we can attack."

"At least let us come with you," said Sif.

"I _don't_ want to leave Father unattended," said Loki.

"Look, if we had been able to get to the healers, he wouldn't be," said Sif. "And if there were more of us, we could have some of us take the boat to get Tyr to safety while the rest of us stayed and helped you. But we don't have that option, and you've done everything you can for him, for now."

Loki chewed his lip, unable to tear his eyes away from where Tyr lay, wrapped in Loki's cloak. Finally he nodded, shut his eyes, and took a long, slow breath. "I don't like it, but you're right."

"The general always says that no plan survives the first encounter with the enemy," said Fandral. "Adaptability is the key to surviving that encounter and everything that follows it."

Loki heaved a sigh that swirled the mist around them. "I know. I just…" He shook his head. "What if one of you stays here and the other accompanies me? I'll dismantle the traps and then signal you when it's time to attack."

Sif and Fandral shared a look, then both shrugged. "I'll stay," said Fandral. "I think I'll do better once battle is joined than I would with sneaking and slitting throats." There was nothing snide in his voice, and he clutched his elbows tightly as he said it.

"Fair enough," said Sif.

"Keep Sleipnir with you," said Loki. "Once I signal, you can ride him into battle. They won't be expecting a mounted warrior; it'll give you another advantage."

"What will the signal be?" asked Fandral.

Loki grinned, but there was little of humor in it. "Either I'll send a double down to speak to you, or… well, the battle will already have started, and you'll be able to tell that we're ready for you by the screaming and mayhem."

* * *

 

The traps were laid across every trail and open patch of ground leading into the Vanir encampment; their sorcerer had been thorough before he'd left them, Loki thought. Fine lines of dull red seidr connected tree trunks like tripwires, and were connected to runes of harm similar to what he'd seen on Tyr's severed hand, only the day before.

Hard to believe it was only the day before.

With Sif standing guard, Loki knelt beside the first. He started to dismantle it, then realized what delicate, tiring work it would be; an easy distraction that would likely get him worn out and killed before they even faced battle.

What if he could… hmm. Loki sent his own seidr across the trip wire, flooding it slowly, turning it from red to green. The thread was meant to break easily, and resisted for only a moment before he'd claimed its energies for his own. A quick glance at the runes the other sorcerer had left showed that they were intact… and that the trigger mechanism was now under his control.

Excellent. All he had to do was whisper to the seidr, tune it to himself, Fandral, Sif, and Sleipnir, and he was done and ready to move on to the next. He'd spend only a fraction of the power this way that he'd planned to use in dismantling the traps, and now, instead of the barricades being set to keep him and his friends out, they would keep Kaetilfast and his men inside. Anyone who attempted to flee would trigger the trap spells themselves.

He and Sif ghosted through the fog on cat feet, Sif not quite as silent as Loki, but then he had been trained as a thief for over a decade and wore armor intended for assassins. Whatever noise they might have made in their passing was easily covered by the sounds of insects and frogs in the jungle around them. They encountered only one guard, a crossbowman straddling a tree branch. He hadn't spotted them; Loki and Sif shared a glance of understanding, then Loki threw the knife into the back of the man's neck, and Sif caught his corpse as he fell. Loki retrieved his blade and cleaned it on the man's tunic, while Sif collected his crossbow and ammunition; then they tucked him out of sight behind some kind of plant with enormous leaves, and moved on.

Suborning the traps took almost no time at all, or so it seemed, and before long they had completely circled the camp and were back where they'd begun. To Loki's senses, the entire perimeter now glowed green-gold, with red runes encircled in his own trip wires and triggers, which the fog did nothing to hide.

He stood and put a hand on Sif's shoulder, and his mouth next to her ear. "Almost ready," he breathed, lisping the "s" so that the sound of it would not carry. When she nodded, he stepped back and beckoned to her, and they fell back, moving to the opposite side of the encampment from the beach.

"What now?" asked Sif.

Loki only glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Heimdall," he said softly, "open the Bifrost."

They waited, and Loki held his breath, hoping that the healers had had time to reach the Observatory, hoping that Heimdall had heard them, hoping that Odin hadn't discovered his plan and put a stop to it… and then, in the distance, they heard the rumble of thunder. At first there was nothing to see, but at last an arc of rainbow light lit up the sky, visible even through the jungle canopy and the fog. Another sentry back in the camp shouted, and they heard the men waking, beginning to stir.

"Time to suit up, lads," said someone after a moment, speaking the Vanir dialect with an Aesir accent. Even after all these centuries, Loki recognized Kaetilfast's sneering voice, even fogged with sleep as it was. "That won't be a ransom delegation, at this hour."

"You said Aesir do not attack by night," said someone else.

"They don't," said Kaetilfast. "Get Mursi, take half of you and go to the ship."

Loki smiled, and released just a little of his seidr, so that the ground began to shake. The men in the camp began to cry out in fear, and he heard at least one of them stumble to the ground; Sif looked at Loki with wide eyes, and he smiled wider. The trees quivered and groaned, and the shaking of their leaves made a rustling sound that nearly drowned out the shouts from the camp.

"What was that?" "What's going on?"

They heard Kaetilfast call out, "Where in damnation is Mursi?" followed by the clatter of someone running in armor.

"Dead!"

" _What?!_ "

Loki reached out with his senses, and smiled at what he found.

In his earliest training with Mimir, and even before that with Frigga, Loki had discovered an affinity for fire. It liked him, for want of a better phrase, and obeyed his will as if it were his own seidr. So now, he reached out, and found the banked embers of the Vanir campfire; he clenched his fist around the energy there, and then flung his fingers open sharply.

A column of flame leaped into the air in the center of their camp, bright enough to blind the Vanir, who cried out in shock and fear. The entire clearing was lit nearly as bright as day, and the milling soldiers, still staggering from the earthquake, were picked out in silhouette against the flames.

"Oh look, Sif," he said with false cheer. "Targets."

Sif smiled grimly, then brought the crossbow up under her chin, aimed, and fired. She disappeared into the fog to his left; Loki took ten steps to the right, drew his throwing knives, and selected his own target, who dropped without a sound. He kept moving, so that the Vanir could not pinpoint his location from the flight of his blades, not that he expected them to with the chaos of the trembling earth and the fog anyway. Loki had several throwing knives, tucked away in his armor along with other nasty surprises, but he used seidr to call them back to him anyway, so that he wouldn't have to worry about running out.

"We're under attack!"

"They have a sorcerer!"

"Get your weapons, damn you all!" howled Kaetilfast.

Loki cast a double next to Skidbladnir, and saw Fandral already climbing into the saddle. Good.

"When you get to the clearing you'll see a column of fire," Loki said. "Ride straight for it. Duck down low and run through it, it won't hurt you."

"Aye, sir," said Fandral, without irony and without looking back, then he dug his heels into Sleipnir's sides and the horse leapt into action.

Back at the camp, the men were getting organized, having adjusted to the light, and were ducking down so that its beacon did not pick them out so readily for Sif and Loki to take out. Some of them were still struggling into their armor, or for footing, but they were doing so behind trees and insect netting that made Loki's knives less effective.

Loki let the earthquake die out. It was time for the next wave. He crouched down and jogged over to Sif's position, then tapped her on the shoulder. "Come with me," he whispered.

They began to move around the perimeter of the camp, and seconds later, Fandral and Sleipnir came thundering into the clearing, faster than any horse in all the realms, there and gone before the Vanir had a chance to strike. They tore through the campfire, scattering embers everywhere and making the men cry out.

Loki extinguished all the flames at once, plunging the camp into darkness, then renewed the trembling of the earth with increased strength. With a little illusion of neighing horses and shouting men, the Vanir were convinced that they were being overridden by cavalry. Men were already trying to flee the encampment and tripping the spells that their own sorcerer had laid there. Loki heard men making hideous noises and saw flashes like red lightning through the fog as the runes were triggered.

"Vekel, damn you, get your pig-fucking ass out of your _fucking_ hammock—" began Kaetilfast, but he cut off abruptly, his pitch rising. "Where in damnation is Vekel?" he demanded, but no one answered him.

The remaining men had organized, perhaps a dozen of them left unwounded, and had fallen mostly silent. It was nearly impossible to see through the darkness and the fog; Loki put a double up in a tree, looking down, and with magic-enhanced sight, was able to make out that they had put their backs to one another, weapons drawn, waiting for the Aesir forces to press their attack.

"They can't have gotten here that quickly," Loki heard one of them say over the noise of the quake.

"Unless they didn't land on Bru," muttered another.

"No, I saw the arc myself. It was Bru."

"Then who in damnation is attacking?"

In the darkness, Loki grinned, took a deep breath, and screamed a battle cry: " _For Tyr!_ " With his seidr, he enhanced the sound, echoing and redoubling it, until it sounded like the cry came from hundreds of men, shouting at them from every direction. Sif caught on, and added her voice to the cry, and then they heard Fandral do the same, and the seidr caught up their voices as well, swelling the words to a roar of thousands.

Loki's double watched as the Vanir men's eyes grew wide. Several threw down their weapons, despite Kaetilfast screaming at them to stand their ground. They looked about wildly, obviously trying to find an escape route that wouldn't take them right through the middle of the Aesir army they believed to be surrounding them.

Again, Loki stopped the trembling of the earth; all fell still, save for the panting of Vanir men terrified half out of their wits, and Kaetilfast snarling at them to pick up their weapons and fight rather than dying like cowards. Loki pulled Sif back, and they moved through the darkness to where Fandral and Sleipnir waited, standing side by side.

Loki swung into the saddle, and felt Sleipnir shift and settle as he took up the reins. "There are about a dozen men left, and they're petrified," he said lowly. "But we can't let them surrender. There aren't enough of us to take captives, and if they flee for their ship, they'll find Father, and Skidbladnir, and we'd be in real trouble." After what they had done to Tyr, Loki had no intention of leaving any of them alive, yet he found that yesterday's hatred and rage had given way to a deadly, calm resolve. What he was about to do would be necessary, but not a act from which he would take any gladness.

"Understood." Fandral raised his sword and drew a dagger with his off hand. Sif twirled her blade, the motion barely visible but the sound of it unmistakable as it sliced the air.

"Show yourselves, you cowards!" yelled Kaetilfast from the clearing, and Loki pressed his lips together into a tight line.

"Save him for me," he said, and nudged Sleipnir into motion.

They plunged into the clearing, and the Vanir cried out in fright, believing themselves about to be trampled by an enormous force. So, naturally, Loki charged and let Sleipnir scatter them. In the darkness, there were more flashes of red light around the boundary of the camp, and he heard more men cry out as the traps caught them. Still, several stood their ground, and Loki ended up turning one of his daggers into a sword and chopping at the nearest shadowy Vanir.

This was Sleipnir's first battle, too, but he had been trained for this just as rigorously as the Aesir, and could probably see in the dark better than Loki could. The great horse laid about him with hooves and teeth, and his extra legs gave him stability that no other horse could match as he reared and kicked out with all four of his front hooves. There were wet, meaty thunks that Loki could hear over the noise of battle, and tried not to think about.

Sleipnir wheeled just in time for Loki to catch a shadow moving up along his flank, and slice across the man's throat. He went down with a gurgling cry, and Loki thought he had gotten far too close in the darkness and fog. His eyes widened in horror at the thought that he might kill either of his closest friends in the dark.

The trees around them caught fire, the better for him to see. The air in the clearing quickly heated until it felt as though they were fighting inside an oven. The fog burned off, but was quickly replaced with smoke that stung Loki's eyes. Fire might have been a mistake.

One more crossbowman fell from the branches with a scream, his clothing smoldering and his hair on fire. Loki threw a blade and caught him in the chest. Before the Vanir could regroup, Loki cast a dozen doubles of himself and Sleipnir, and a few more illusions of Sif and Fandral besides, and had them enter the fray.

"Illusion!" somebody called.

"Not all of us," said Fandral, running him through.

More Vanir tried to escape the battle, and Loki feared that they would take a path whose traps had already been set off. He urged Sleipnir out of the clearing and into the relative cold of the jungle to follow them. Sure enough, two were making haste for the beach as fast as their legs could carry them.

Not as fast as Sleipnir. One was simply run down and trampled under his mighty hooves, and the other spun and tripped, scrambling backward on his hands and elbows with his face wide-eyed and pale with terror. Loki threw a blade into the man's eye, and it was over in an instant. Looking about in the light from the burning trees nearby he held his breath, listening hard, but could not hear anyone else moving in the jungle apart from the nearby battle, which seemed to be fading as more and more men fell dead. The roaring of the flames made it difficult to tell for certain, though, and Loki thought again that perhaps fire had been a mistake. He was getting ash in his hair, the longer he sat here, staring at the two dead Vanir.

When he returned, Sif and Fandral had already dispatched the last ones standing, apart from Kaetilfast, and Fandral looked a little sick even as the two of them easily fended off his attacks. Loki dismounted, and dispelled the fire in the trees, replacing it with glowing orbs of seidr as he called, "That's enough." The stench of blood and offal hung in the air.

Sif and Fandral stepped back, sweaty, blood-spattered, and panting, even as Kaetilfast spun to face his new opponent. " _You_."

That deadly resolve was back, and all Loki felt was calm. "Kaetilfast."

"I always knew you were a coward," sneered the older man. "Hiding behind magic like a woman."

Loki reached for the hatred, the rage he'd felt upon realizing what had been done to his father. This was the man who had made Loki's life hell for seven years as a trainee in the army. This was a man who would have laughed, had he been allowed to watch when Loki's lips were stitched shut. This was the man who had _mutilated_ his father, then stuck him in a cage and left him to die.

"Not going to say anything, _boy_? Afraid to face me?" Kaetilfast looked him up and down in obvious contempt. "Saved me for last—I suppose you were expecting to challenge me, weren't you?" He grinned, showing yellowed teeth with one missing. "Thought yourself to be some kind of hero. And now you _can't_."

This was a man, Loki realized, who had destroyed his own life, by giving in to his own petty hatreds and prejudices. Who had lived most of his life in a constant state of simmering anger… and look where it had gotten him.

Loki tilted his head. "Not so," he said. "I've just discovered that hating you is a waste of my time."

Kaetilfast clearly didn't know what to make of being so completely dismissed. His face contorted in rage, and he started forward, blade raised, before Sif and Fandral blocked his way. "I took your precious father's hand," he sneered, "and I _laughed_ at his pain."

That flared Loki's own anger, but not enough to make him lose control. "I know you did," he said.

"Then _face me_ , you useless pampered little shit!"

Loki shook his head, and smiled. "But it bothers you so much more when I refuse," he replied, and then sobered. "You're a rabid dog, Kaetilfast. You need to be put down for the good and safety of everyone around you, but there's no point hating a rabid dog. You just…"

He dismissed his double and revealed his true self, standing right in front of Kaetilfast, and slit the man's throat before he could react. Hot blood splashed Loki's hand and face, and the front of his armor, as Kaetilfast stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. Loki kept eye contact until the man dropped to his knees, and stepped aside as he pitched forward, dead.

"…get it over with."

Loki turned and scanned the clearing, seeing bodies everywhere he looked. There were hammocks and insect netting strung between the trees, and trampled and smashed pottery and cooking utensils beside the remains of their campfire. A musical instrument that had miraculously survived the chaos stood propped against a tree trunk.

Sif stepped forward and put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Loki nodded, tired from the battle. Men who probably had had nothing to do with what Kaetilfast had done to Tyr were dead now, by their hands, where they'd been living ordinary lives only minutes prior. Likely they'd only been following orders and would have preferred to be home with their own loved ones, assuming they had any. "I'm fine," he said. "What about the two of you?"

"Nothing of import," said Sif. "Fandral?"

"Got a cut on my arm. I'll have the healers look at it once we pick them up." He looked up at Loki then, searching his face for something. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I am," said Loki. "Just… what a waste."

Fandral nodded, looking just as sickened as Loki felt, if not more so, but he still threw an arm around Loki's shoulders and leaned close. "You've avenged Tyr," he offered. "He'd be proud."

"No," said Loki, "I don't know that he would." Battle wasn't the glorious thing that Asgard liked to pretend it was. It was messy, and horrible, and awful, and although sometimes it truly was necessary, there was no glory to be found in it. It was merely an unpleasant task… like putting down a rabid dog.

And he had one more unpleasant task to complete before they could leave. He looked down at Kaetilfast's corpse and swallowed, feeling a little nauseous. "Go on back to Skidbladnir," he said. "I'll be along in a moment."


	21. The Island of Bru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki, Fandral, and Sif bring Tyr safely to the healers waiting on Bru.

Fandral looked up to see Loki trudging down to the beach with one of his seidr lights hovering over his shoulder. In one fist, he clutched something that glowed faintly, orange light shimmering between his fingers; in the other, the folds of a blanket held something heavy that swung down by his knee. As Loki got closer, Fandral saw that the bundle was dripping slightly, the blanket stained black in the darkness.

"Do I want to know what that is?" he asked when the prince was close enough.

"No," said Loki. He climbed aboard Skidbladnir and stowed the thing, whatever it was, under the deck planking near the rudder. "How is Father?"

"He hasn't woken," said Fandral.

"His fever is very high, Loki," said Sif.

"I'm not surprised. We need to get to Bru, quickly, and then decide what to do next from there."

"What do you mean?"

Loki sighed, climbing back out of the boat. "The original plan was to bring the healers to Vanaheim, and Father to the healers, and then we would all go to confront Nidhud. But now…" He looked over his shoulder at where the general lay, wrapped in a cloak near the mast. "Father is worse off than I expected. I don't know if we should bring him with us, or find a place on Bru where he can recover in peace."

"Let's just get to Bru and then see what the healers have to say," suggested Sif, and Loki nodded.

"He can't take the Bifrost back in this condition, regardless," said Fandral.

Loki looked back at his father again. "I know."

With few words and no wasted motion, they got Sleipnir aboard, shoved the boat out into the water, and rowed it past the breakers. Soon the sail was up, and they were underway. The ship's incredible speed was not something Fandral thought he would ever get used to.

Once their course was set, Loki called him over. "Take the rudder, would you?"

"I was wondering when you'd say that," said Fandral. He nodded toward the mast, and General Tyr. "Go on with you."

"Thanks."

* * *

 

Loki knelt by Tyr's head, compulsively smoothing his cloak across his father's shoulders even though it didn't need it, and resisted the urge to run his fingers through the older man's hair. Tyr was alive, but maimed, on Loki's behalf. Loki had rescued him and killed his captors, but Tyr would still be without his hand for the rest of his life. Worse, he was desperately ill with infection in his wounds and exposure to the elements, and there was no way to tell right now whether he would even survive to leave Vanaheim.

At least Loki had managed to rescue him, and neither Sif nor Fandral were badly hurt. That had to count for something, Loki supposed.

That fight was over, and Loki didn't regret the way Kaetilfast had died, but when he looked at his father, a part of him wished that the coward had suffered more, to match the suffering he'd inflicted on Tyr.

A low moan distracted Loki from his thoughts. "Father?"

Tyr cracked his eyes open, struggling to focus and clearly confused about his surroundings, until finally his gaze fell on Loki. He said nothing, but after a moment he smiled tiredly.

"Would you like some water, Father?" Loki was already holding the skin to his lips. Tyr drank thirstily, but he was so weak that he only managed a few swallows before his head fell back onto the rolled blanket that was serving as his pillow. "Please, you must drink more," said Loki, but Tyr shook his head tiredly.

"You're not dead," he said, his voice still hoarse, little more than a harsh whisper.

"Neither are you, Father."

"Thought you were. They told me you were."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Tyr shook his head again. "Shouldn't have believed them."

He closed his eyes, and Loki just looked at him, sunburned and with dry, cracked lips, and salt crusting in his matted hair and beard. He thought Tyr had drifted back to sleep, but the man opened his eyes again. "What is this place?"

"We're on a ship, Father," said Loki. "Do you remember, the enchanted one I got from the dwarfs?"

Tyr seemed to think for a moment, but his gaze was unfocused when he found Loki's face again. "Are we dead?"

Loki took a shaking breath, blinking back the sting of tears. "No, Father."

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," whispered Tyr. "Tried to escape, when I heard the battle. Heard you fall. They told me you were dead." He struggled under the cloak, possibly trying to reach for Loki. "I avenged you, Loki. My son. I avenged you. You can rest."

"I'm not dead, Father," said Loki, leaning in close. "We're neither of us dead. Please believe me."

To Loki's sorrow, Tyr's breath hitched and it sounded like he would have cried, if he had any tears inside him. "They told me you were dead."

"I know, Father." Loki rested his hand on Tyr's brow, feeling the heat radiating off him like a smith's forge. "I know, but it's all right. We're safe now."

"Safe."

"I promise."

* * *

 

Loki only left Tyr's side once they came within sight of Bru, helping to drop the sail and row them in. It was still hours before dawn, and an Aesir ship on Vanaheim, while not unheard of, was rare enough that it would draw attention, so they bypassed the light of the official docks and piers and found the beach where the smallest fishing boats were pulled up onto the gravel, and came ashore there.

"How are we going to find the healers?" asked Sif.

"Bru never really sleeps," said Loki. "You saw the lights from the city, right? It's a busy trade center thanks to the Bifrost. There's probably still an inn open at this time of night that Runa and the rest would have found. And of course the Bifrost itself probably woke everybody up when it hit."

Sif nodded, and looked back at Tyr. "Are you coming with us?"

"Not this time. But take Sleipnir." Before she could remark on the horse's appearance, Loki cast an illusion, so that Sleipnir's eight legs appeared to be four. Sleipnir, for his part, merely whuffed and shivered as Loki's seidr settled over his skin. "But you might want to clean yourselves up a bit, first," he added, passing them a full water skin. "You look like you've just come off the battlefield."

"We _have_ ," said Fandral. "And you're a bit gruesome yourself."

Loki looked down at his armor and grimaced. He'd wiped his hands and face clean, but his harness was still splashed and sticky with drying blood. No wonder Tyr still thought Loki was dead whenever he looked at him. With a quick gesture and a whisper of seidr, he removed Kaetilfast's blood and most of the grime.

"You could do that for us, you know," Fandral groused, but he was smiling tiredly as he said it. So Loki did, and within a moment both his friends looked much more presentable.

"Go on," he said. "I'll wait here."

* * *

 

The night was almost too quiet, down here on the beach away from the city. There was only the crashing of the waves, the night breeze, and Tyr's labored breathing to keep Loki company, and he found himself leaning back against the mast with his elbows on his knees, trying not to think too much.

Kaetilfast was dead.

Heimdall had used the Bifrost, so Odin now probably knew that Loki was here. If not, he'd certainly be curious why a group of healers from Vingólf had gone to Vanaheim at the hour they had. Loki wondered what sort of punishment might await him when he returned to Asgard.

Kaetilfast was dead, and Loki had killed him.

Thor would probably be incensed once he learned what Loki had done. Probably jealous, possibly protective. Likely just jealous, though, and resentful once he found out that Loki had succeeded where Thor himself had failed.

Loki had killed men for the first time tonight, with little remorse. No enjoyment; no sense of "glory" or whatever it was that the veteran warriors like to talk about. It was just… tragic, really. A waste, all those lives gone. A long time ago, Tyr had told them not to look forward to their first kill, that part of a person's soul was lost the day that happened, and that they never really got it back. Loki wasn't sure if his soul had been damaged or not. He felt a little sick, but mostly just disappointed at the overall waste of it. They had probably just been soldiers following orders, likely not even responsible for harming Tyr, knowing Kaetilfast's sadistic streak, and Loki had killed them all anyway.

Kaetilfast's death hadn't been a waste, though. His had been necessary. There would have been no stopping him otherwise, and besides, for the things he'd done to Loki's father, he had deserved to die.

Did Nidhud deserve to die?

A part of Loki wanted him to suffer, too, since he'd been party to what Kaetilfast had done. Or at least, he'd done nothing to stop it or punish his underlings. But there was politics to consider, and Odin was right when he said that killing a king was unwise. Asgard wasn't ready to go to war with an entire realm.

What of the sorcerer who had desecrated Tyr's hand, and laid those traps, and attacked Loki?

Well. He was a foe, but he was back with Nidhud, most likely, and there was the whole matter of the war to consider. Loki couldn't really justify killing him out of hand. On the other hand, he'd nearly managed to kill Loki once already and the world might be safer without him in it. Also, Loki would be lying if he said that the thought of what he'd done to Tyr's severed hand didn't fill him with disgusted rage. If the sorcerer attacked, Loki would not hesitate to defend himself.

Tyr's fever was too high. Loki wet a cloth and folded it across the man's forehead, listening to him mutter in his sleep. He said nothing intelligible, but at least he wasn't thrashing in delirium either.

Loki's stomach rumbled; on Asgard, it would probably be about lunchtime by now, and he'd had very little to break his fast when he'd woken up. Too nervous to eat.

When was the last time Tyr had eaten?

With that thought, Loki went rummaging through their packs until he found the bundle that Olief had given him, right before they'd left. It turned out to be a fresh loaf of bread with nuts and fruit baked in, and Loki fell to hungrily. He saved back a portion for Sif and Fandral, and some for Tyr as well, for when he woke up.

 _If he woke up_ , his mind supplied, and Loki sighed heavily.

Usually he didn't mind the silence, but tonight, with Tyr unconscious and wounded beside him, Loki thought it might drive him mad.

* * *

 

Footsteps crunching on the gravel alerted Loki, and he sat up quickly, a hand on one of his blades, just in case. Then he heard Fandral call softly, "It's us," and let himself relax.

"How is he?" came Runa's voice, and with the question a burst of light as she created her own seidr globe to hover near them. She and her two apprentices climbed into the boat and knelt by Tyr's side, while Loki moved out of their way to let them work.

Runa winced, hissing a little through her teeth. "Barbaric," she said, holding up Tyr's mutilated wrist. Loki had to force himself to look, to see the badly burned and blistered stump and the angry lines of infection working their way up his arm. "And it looks like blood poisoning besides."

"Heimdall said he was flogged, too," supplied Loki. "And I found him exposed to the elements."

"Yes, I see that," said Runa; "he's badly sunburned and dehydrated."

Tyr moaned and turned his head, teeth starting to chatter in the chill air. Runa quickly covered him back up with Loki's cloak.

"We won't be able to treat him here," she said. "We'll have to take him into town."

"I didn't think he was fit for the Bifrost," said Loki, nodding.

"It's good that you decided to have us come to Vanaheim, my prince," she replied. "I'll be able to get started on this infection as soon as we get him back up to the inn and settled into a proper bed. We've brought everything we need to convert the room to a healing chamber, and he's going to need it."

"Will he… he will recover, right?" Loki kept clenching and unclenching one fist nervously.

"I will be able to give you a more definitive answer in the morning," said the healer.

Loki bit his lip. He hadn't intended to stay the night, wanting to go to Nidhud, retrieve Master Völund, and be done with this mission; but if Tyr was in such an awful condition that even Runa hesitated to say whether he would pull through…

"It's a journey of a few days, at least, to the Thousand Suns," he said. "Nidhud can wait a few more hours."

* * *

 

"Has he been lucid at all?" Runa asked, once they had Tyr settled at the inn. "Awake, for any length of time?"

"When I first found him, yes," said Loki. "And he was awake again on the ship, but he seemed more confused there."

"How so?"

"It… they'd told him I was killed in the battle. When Thor and I came the first time. I think he's been hallucinating, because he mentioned seeing me before and wondering if I had come to take—" Loki had to pause as his voice cracked. He swallowed hard, and blinked away the burning in his eyes. "—if I had come to take his soul to Valhalla or Volkvangr." He cleared his throat and went on, "But when I first found him, he was able to realize that I was really there, and to help a bit with the climb up from were he was being held. Later on the ship, he just seemed confused that neither of us was dead, and kept coming back to that."

"Probably it was the exertion on top of everything else," said Runa.

"I'm sorry." Loki turned away, dragging his fingers through his hair. "There wasn't any other way. I tried—"

"I am certain that you did, my prince," said Runa, putting her hand on Loki's shoulder. "There's no blame here. Remember that you rescued him, and that it was these other men who left him to suffer."

"Loki?" He wheeled to see Tyr tossing his head fretfully on the bed. "Loki? Where is my son?"

"Father, I'm here." Loki fairly leaped the distance between them to sit at Tyr's bedside. He reached down to take Tyr's hand.

"Loki?"

"Yes, Father."

"Where…?"

"You're safe, Father. That's all that matters."

"Kaetilfast…" Tyr swallowed harshly, and Loki held his head so that he could drink. "Kaetilfast is on Vanaheim."

"It's all right, Father. I know. I—I killed him."

"He told me you were dead."

"I know. But I'm not, and neither are you."

Tyr seemed to accept this, his eyes closing wearily. In the light of the inn, he looked even worse, all his injuries brought into view. He lay naked under the blankets, bared to the waist, and his skin was dry and still too hot. He smelled, of stale sweat and seawater and infection.

"Leave him to rest now, my prince," said Runa. "We need to begin now, if he is to recover."

"May I stay?" asked Loki.

Runa took a deep breath, studying the pair of them. "If you sit near his head," she said finally. "And do not interrupt us. Some of what we must do will be unpleasant, especially once we have dealt with the infection and begin to treat his arm properly. But we will ease his pain, and he will sleep through all of what we do. If he frets in his dreams, your talking to him may soothe him. But use no seidr."

"I won't," said Loki. "I'm… not skilled at healing."

Runa nodded, and rolled up her sleeves. She nodded at her apprentices, and they got to work.


	22. Tyr Wakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr wakes and he and Loki speak; Loki and his friends leave in search of Nidhud.

Loki managed to doze, sitting at his foster father's head while the healers did their work. He hadn't thought he'd ever really dropped off to sleep, but at one point he opened his eyes and found that someone had draped a blanket across his shoulders. Blinking to clear his vision, he saw that a stool had been placed at his elbow, with a bit of food and a mug of something that still steamed.

Outside the window, Loki saw only darkness. On Asgard it would be daytime still, although Loki had no idea what the hour might be. He shouldn't be sleepy, but even so, he'd barely eaten and the battle had taken much of his energy, so that now he was ravenous and tired both.

"I wondered if you might wake soon," said Runa. She kept her voice low, glancing at Tyr as if to make sure he still slept. "Eat."

"How is he?" asked Loki. He picked up the mug and blew on its contents, sipping carefully.

"I think he'll pull through," said Runa with a smile. "We've purged the worst of the infection and gotten some nutrients into him; he's responding well."

"Will he wake?"

Runa shook her head. "Probably not soon. Perhaps by Vanaheim morning; he's been here long enough to grow acclimated to the time difference."

"Of course."

"Will you stay?" Runa leaned back in her seat and reached for a mug of her own. "I know you still have more to do on this journey of yours. Völund is waiting."

"I haven't forgotten," said Loki. "But yes, I'll stay until he wakes. Perhaps a little after that, if he needs me. As far as I've been able to scry, Master Völund is being treated well enough in captivity. It isn't that I don't care, but…"

"But his plight is not as urgent as your father's was. I understand."

"Yes, precisely." He fell silent then, and watched Tyr's slow breath as he slept. They'd washed him at some point while Loki rested, and gotten the salt crust out of his hair and beard. He still looked sunburned and sick, but no longer like he'd been left to die at the mercy of the elements. The blanket was pulled up to his chest, and the bandaged stump of his wrist lay at his side. "How is his arm?"

"It could have been worse," said Runa, shaking her head. "The ends of his forearm bones are still more or less intact. The cauterization was brutal and only barely effective, so there was a bit of surgery needed to repair that damage, but what remains should heal cleanly. He'll keep his arm. Over time he will likely be able to compensate for the loss of his hand in many ways."

"It could have been worse," repeated Loki. He took a deep breath. "It is hard to… keep that in mind, when I look at him now."

"Yes, and you blame yourself." Runa shook her head. "Don't. Place the blame where it belongs, on those who actually took his hand."

"They _took_ it because he fought them, and he fought them because he believed they had killed me in the battle. If I hadn't been wounded so grievously—"

"Then they still would have come up with some way to taunt and torment him," said Runa. "I'll say it again: place the blame where it belongs. And it does _not_ belong on your shoulders."

Loki sighed again. "As you say, healer."

* * *

 

After a while, Runa left, and one of her apprentices came in to take her place at Tyr's bedside. She nodded to Loki, but did not speak, only placing her hands on Tyr's belly and closing her eyes.

Loki had no idea how long he sat in the silence, nibbling at the food Runa had brought and watching his father sleep, but eventually the sky outside their window grew lighter and the older man stirred, his brow furrowing and his breathing picking up. At his side, Runa's apprentice smiled, still with her eyes closed. Loki moved to sit at Tyr's other side, rather than looming over his head as he woke.

Tyr took one deep breath, then another. He turned his head and shifted under the blankets, and Loki reached for his hand as his eyes opened.

It took a moment for his eyes to focus, but when they did he swallowed heavily. "Loki."

"Hello, Father," he replied, smiling helplessly. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty."

"Of course." Loki squeezed his hand, then turned and reached for his own mug of tea, long since gone cold by now. Tyr tried to take it, but his hand shook too much, and after a moment he gave up and let his hand drop to his stomach in resignation. "Can you lift your head?" Loki asked.

"Let's find out," said Tyr. His voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Loki slipped an arm behind Tyr's head, helping him to raise up enough to take the tea without it spilling everywhere. Unlike the last time Loki had given him something to drink, he drank with vigor until the cup was empty.

"Is there more?" he asked.

"Not of this, but—"

"I'll fetch something," said the apprentice. "It is good to see you awake, General Tyr."

As she left, Loki looked his father in the eye. "She's right," he said. "It is _very_ good to see you awake."

Tyr smiled, still obviously fatigued. "The feeling is mutual." He reached up and touched Loki's face. "I am not yet able to take for granted the notion that you are alive."

"I'm so sorry," said Loki. "That you had to go through that. That you went through any of it."

Tyr shook his head. "Not your fault."

Loki tipped his head, acknowledging the point. "I know. Still."

"Still." Tyr looked around the room with a little frown. "We are not on Asgard?"

"Not yet. You weren't well enough to take the Bifrost. We're on Bru, still on Vanaheim."

Tyr took that in with a little nod. "You came for me."

"Of course."

The older man frowned a little. "You should not have endangered yourself for me."

Loki sat up straight at that. "You have to be joking." When Tyr looked at him in confusion, he added, "Well, I wasn't just going to _leave_ you here!"

His father smiled again, and even chuckled a little. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." He sighed, his eyelids beginning to droop a little. "You'll have to tell me all about your venture, later. When I can stay awake through it."

"Of course, Father."

Tyr nodded, and let his eyes fall closed for a moment before he looked up again. "What of Völund?"

"I will retrieve him also, Father," said Loki. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "Your need was greater, so we got you first. Now that you are recovering, I feel better about leaving your side to fetch him from King Nidhud."

"I hope so," said Tyr. He raised his eyebrows. "He was the reason we came to Vanaheim in the first place."

Loki huffed a little laugh. "Believe me, I have not forgotten."

His father smiled, then grew serious. "You killed Kaetilfast?"

"I did, Father." Loki bit his lip and glanced away. "I am not… I did not take any joy in the act. I do not think that I believe in 'glory' the way the other warriors speak of it. But it was necessary."

Tyr nodded. "And their sorcerer?"

"He was not there."

The older man frowned, concerned. "He took us by surprise, when we came."

"Yes," said Loki, "we discovered that he can hide from Heimdall's sight. But he made a mistake, and I've been able to trace him by his magic. We believe he is with Nidhud and Völund, now."

"Be wary, then, when you go."

"I shall, Father. I shall be ready for him, this time." He rested a hand on Tyr's head, feeling the warmth of his father under his palm. "Rest, Father. Do you wish me to stay another day?"

Tyr shook his head. "I am in no condition to play tafl with you, I am afraid. I will only sleep, and you would be bored."

Loki wanted to say that would never happen, but, "Perhaps a little," he acknowledged.

"Go, then," said Tyr. "Retrieve Master Völund and bring him back safely." His eyes fell closed. "We will converse more when you have returned."

"As you wish, Father."

* * *

 

"How is he?" It was Fandral who spoke, when Loki finally entered the room that had been set aside for the three of them.

"He will recover," said Loki. "Well… most of him will recover."

"That is good news," said Sif, sitting up and reaching for her boots. "Have you eaten?"

"Not much."

Sif tossed him a piece of fruit, then went back to pulling her boots on.

"What's next?" asked Fandral.

"Völund," replied Loki. "He should still be with Nidhud, and they should still be somewhere in the Thousand Suns. On an ordinary ship, it would be about three days' travel. No idea how quickly Skidbladnir will get us there."

They both nodded. "Wonder if we'll go faster if we leave Sleipnir here," said Fandral. "Unless there are pathways there that we can use to get back to Asgard."

"None that I know of," said Loki with a shake of his head. "But we'll be able to sail back here, or else back to the island where we first arrived. It would probably be best if you were to take the Bifrost home anyway."

"And be questioned by the All-Father as soon as we arrived?" Sif snorted. "Shieldmother can protect me from much, but not everything, and probably not that. And she wouldn't be able to protect Fandral, either. If we're lucky we won't be thrown in the dungeons for what we've done."

"I'll take responsibility for you," said Loki. "Odin will punish me, if he punishes anybody."

"Do you think he won't?" asked Fandral quietly.

Loki frowned, then sighed. "I'm really not sure."

* * *

 

The journey to the Thousand Suns went smoothly; by day, when they could see as well as feel just how quickly Skidbladnir sailed, her speed was nearly terrifying. The ship skimmed across the tops of the waves, barely dipping between the swells as her sail, made of elven steel-silk, gleamed in the relentless sun. Her dragon's head seemed almost alive as she cut through the water like a blade.

The navigation-via-amulet still showed Völund and the mystery sorcerer in the same location, and using the smith's amulet to scry him still showed him in relatively good condition. Loki never saw him walking, however, and he remembered what Heimdall had told them, that the use of his legs had been taken in order to keep him from returning to Asgard, all the way back when he had first gone to Vanaheim with his delivery of weapons. It was hard to believe so little time had passed since he was first captured, with everything that had happened.

They encountered few other ships out on the open ocean, and Loki took that as a blessing. Half the petty kings of Vanaheim were little better than pirate warlords, marauding and clambering over one another for power and territory, stealing wealth back and forth from one another in an endless series of skirmishes and battles. Loki had no desire to encounter them; Skidbladnir might be able to outrun any ship in the ocean, but she had no weapons other than Loki's magic, and he did not want to test his skills against a fleet of ships armed with cannon and who knew what else.

It took a full day and a night, but as the sun crested the horizon on the second day, the red and green amulets began to move toward the center of the bowl of sand, and in the distance, Fandral spotted land.

They had reached the Thousand Suns.


	23. Vekel and Völund

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki comes to the Thousand Suns, and confronts King Nidhud.

Most of the islands of the archipelago were tiny, some of them no more than a few paces across when the tide was at its highest. Loki wasn't sure if the region was named for the thousand different sunrises one could see from any one of these little atolls, or if they were named for the great waterfall on the largest island, famous for the way in which it caught the light at certain times of day and refracted it into an ever changing mosaic of dazzling brilliance.

All he knew for certain was that the islands of the Thousand Suns constituted a maze of shallow water, sandbars, and uninhabited islands, easy to disappear in (likely Nidhud's intent when he came here) and treacherous to navigate if one did not know the region well. Loki's amulets only indicated a straight line direction, the shortest distance between Skidbladnir and their goal.

Fortunately, Fandral really was a skilled pilot, even though he was more accustomed to the flying skiffs of Asgard. More fortunate still, Skidbladnir was enchanted to always find favorable wind, and in this part of Vanaheim, "favorable" meant "slow and steady". Loki and Sif lowered the sail a bit anyway, just to be on the safe side, but the snekkja moved smoothly and seemed always to find the clearest route among the shallows.

"There they are," called Fandral; the sun was just beginning to set, the sky burning in shades of pink and orange. Ahead of them, a fleet of about thirty Vanir ships in various sizes and styles was anchored off one of the larger islands. In their center, a truly enormous palace ship floated, hung with over a hundred lanterns and painted in red, dark blue, and gold. Her red sails were furled, but dark blue banners waved lazily in the dying breeze.

Beside her, Skidbladnir looked like a toy.

* * *

 

When the cry went up among the fleet that a foreign ship was approaching, Vekel hissed in delight and his eyes rolled back in his head. His pretty prince was approaching. They would be together, and he would have him forever and ever, and there wouldn't even be a fight. The pretty prince would come to him, and it would be beautiful. Vekel could hardly wait.

Swiftly, he donned his robes and made his way to Nidhud's side. The king had been displeased when he had first returned, slithering out of the sea and climbing up the anchor chain, but Vekel had spoken his visions and the king had only beaten him a little before tossing him back into his old quarters. Nidhud didn't have a cage to put Vekel in anymore, and the beating had almost felt to Vekel like a greeting between old friends. The pain had grounded him in his body, made him feel more real.

"What do you see?" Nidhud asked grudgingly, as Vekel took his place by his king's side.

"One ship," said Vekel, swaying with his eyes closed. "Aesir style, but dwarf make. A treasure that bears a treasure, who bears a treasure of his own."

"Make sense, or shut up," said the king.

"The ship is a wonder," said Vekel. "It bears the pretty prince who will be my friend… and he carries a gift for you." The sorcerer giggled and laced his fingers together, up under his chin. The edges of his fingernails scraped along the sides of his throat.

"Weapons? A threat?"

Vekel felt for his visions, but nothing was forthcoming. "I do not see any such thing."

Nidhud narrowed his eyes, then nodded. "Let them approach," he said to a nearby aide. "We will receive them without hostility, so long as they bring none of their own."

* * *

 

Crewmen and women on the other ships saw them coming, and sent up a cry, passing the word from ship to ship; but no one stopped them, perhaps out of curiosity or perhaps thinking that they were too small to be a threat.

Sif and Loki furled the sail completely, and Skidbladnir coasted silently between the ships until they reached the side of the great floating palace. Men and women were hanging over the railings of the vessels on all sides, looking in open curiosity at the little Aesir snekkja with only three people crewing her. Loki said nothing, only uncoiled a rope and tossed it upward. One of the crew members caught it and tied it fast; Nidhud must have given permission for them to board, then.

Loki lifted the deck boards and pulled out the bundle he'd retrieved after their attack on Kaetilfast. In the daylight, it was easy to see that the blanket was stained with dried blood. He was lucky that what it contained was still too fresh to really smell yet.

"Either of you want to come with me?" he asked, holding it out to one side, away from his legs.

"I'll stay with the ship," said Fandral, tossing a pair of floats over the side to keep Skidbladnir from bumping into the other vessel.

"I will come," said Sif.

They climbed aboard, Loki with his bundle over his shoulder, and came face to face with a handful of armed guards. No one seemed overtly hostile just yet, so Loki shrugged and said, "We seek an audience with your king, Nidhud, concerning the matter of Master Völund."

"Let them pass," said someone behind them, and the group parted to reveal a man beneath a carved archway, seated on a low, cushioned bench carved and gilt to resemble stylized fish amid crashing waves. His robes were ornate, in many layers, and his eyes were dusted with gold powder. His nails were also painted in gold lacquer, and the littlest finger on one hand had an exaggerated, long fingernail that gleamed like a tiny knife blade in the light of the setting sun.

Loki stepped cautiously around the guards to the proper front of the throne, and bowed in the Vanir fashion. As Loki straightened, he saw the king's eyebrows go up in satisfaction; he also saw, standing in the shadows behind the king, a short man wearing green robes and his fingers clutched together up under his chin. Unlike Nidhud, this man had long nails on all ten fingers, though as far as Loki could tell they were not painted but stained dark instead. He caught Loki looking at him and giggled, swaying on his feet to whisper in the king's ear. He never took his eyes off Loki, not even to look at Sif, and Loki felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Almost on instinct, he readied his magic to defend himself at an instant's notice.

"I am Loki Odinsson-Tyrsson," he said simply, and watched as the satisfied expression on Nidhud's face fell away. "Not long ago, ransom was arranged for Master Völund the Smith. Instead of honoring that agreement, some of your men attacked the ransoming party, kept both the ransom and Völund, and killed several of our men. My foster father, General Tyr, led that party and was captured by your people. I have come to Vanaheim to retrieve him, and Völund."

"I see," said Nidhud. "And what are your terms?"

"My terms?" Loki raised one eyebrow, and felt Sif watching him out of the corner of her eye. "They are quite simple. You will bring me Master Völund, unharmed. We will leave this place unmolested. You will take no action in retaliation."

Nidhud seemed unimpressed. "And what do I gain," he asked flatly.

Loki, however, was equally unimpressed. "You were already given ransom, Nidhud," said Loki. "Now it is time to uphold your end of the deal that a ransom implies. What you _gain_ , as you put it, is Asgard choosing not to go to war and annihilate you for your impudence in abducting Völund and demanding ransom in the first place."

Nidhud scowled but said nothing. At his side, the little advisor leaned in and whispered something again, but Nidhud waved him off.

"Master Völund dealt with you in good faith," Loki pressed. "You still have the weapons he crafted for you, and which you did not pay for."

"We paid him!" said Nidhud.

"And yet neither he nor his payment made it back to Asgard," said Loki. He hardened his expression. "This is not a negotiation, Nidhud. This is me telling you that your presumptuous behavior has gone on long enough. You have the count of one hundred to bring Völund to me, unharmed, as I said."

"The count of one hundred?" scoffed the king. "Or what?"

Loki shrugged. "Or people on your ship begin dying. I do not threaten," he added, as Nidhud shot to his feet and glared. "I make a statement of fact. You can prevent the deaths of your crew by simply giving me what you know is not rightfully yours, and never was."

"You threaten me without cause," tried Nidhud. "You must know that it was not I who captured your smith, nor attacked your ransom party. It was an underling who acted without my permission."

"And yet you took advantage of his actions."

"I banished him for his actions!"

"I know."

Nidhud sat back slowly, eyes narrowed. "You have said nothing so far of your General Tyr. Your foster father, was he?"

"He still is," said Loki. "I have already rescued him from your… insubordinate underling."

Nidhud raised his chin, eyes narrowed. Loki shrugged, and shook out the folds of the blanket he was holding; with a little swing, the contents fell free and rolled to a stop at Nidhud's feet.

Kaetilfast's dead eyes stared up at them all from his bloody, severed head.

Loki tossed the blanket aside with a smirk. "His disobedience will trouble you no more, King Nidhud," he said.

The advisor standing behind the king clapped his hands in what looked like mad delight. Nidhud's eyes grew wide, and the men and women around him put their hands on the hilts of their weapons. So did Sif, but when Nidhud gestured, it was not the drawing of steel that followed.

The little advisor behind the king gasped, and his eyes grew wide, and then Loki felt the tingle of magic about to be cast.

In a flash, his thoughts went to Miiran of Cor Caan and their lessons from only a few weeks ago. He immediately caught the thread of seidr that shot toward him, and followed the link back to its source. Loki's eyes met those of the little man standing behind Nidhud, and he recognized the seidr that had wrapped itself around Tyr's severed hand, the traps in the jungle, and the attack on Loki himself when he'd first come to Vanaheim with Thor.

It was child's play to flood the link with his own power, to seize control of it.

Unfortunately, just as in his lessons with Miiran, he reached too far.

* * *

 

His name was Vekel, and he was a little boy, growing up with magic. Despised, ridiculed. Men were not supposed to have magic, on Vanaheim. He was a freak.

He was Loki, and his mother told him how special he was, and offered to teach him.

He was Vekel, and an adolescent, the first time he used his magic to simply take what he wanted. Her name… he no longer even remembered her name. She wasn't that good anyway, compared to later pretty girls and pretty boys.

He was Loki, and still living in the palace the first time he kissed Sigyn, and he remembered the way they both had blushed with the self-consciousness of first love.

He was a man, and had spent years trying to teach himself more of the deeper mysteries. Vekel had looked long into the abyss, and the abyss had claimed him for its own.

He was Loki, and nearly of age, and he had had Mimir and Miiran and Geirny, and Tyr, and Frodi, and so many others to shape and guide him as he grew and learned.

He was Vekel, and if the world was going to despise him anyway, he was going to give them a reason to despise him.

He was Loki, lifting and switching the purses of the arrogant nobles who sought to look down on him, seeking to embarrass them but not humiliate. There was no need to make enemies of them, just teach them a lesson.

He was Vekel, and when he wanted to cry, he laughed instead. When people looked at him in disgust, he turned it to fear. When his mother rejected what he had become, he killed her. Killed her and never shed another tear in his life, giggling madly whenever anyone tried to make him suffer for what he'd done, or what he wanted.

He was Loki, and he cried out in his soul at the thought of harming those who loved him.

Vekel knew that pain was the only thing that was real. If they wanted to give it to him, he would take it and laugh.

Loki saw _everything_ , and Vekel saw him. He felt the other man's thrill of twisted ecstasy as they merged almost into one being. _There wouldn't even be a fight,_ he thought in delight, then realized that it was not his own thought, but Vekel's.

Loki—Vekel—no, _Loki_ ripped himself violently away from the connection with Vekel's magical core, but kept the link open between them and poured more power into it.

Behind Nidhud, the sorcerer—Vekel—stood with his muscles locked into absolute rigidity, his eyes slack and his skin slowly darkening and drying out. Gradually, a smell of roasting meat filled the air, and the people around him began backing away in fear, their hands over their noses. Finally, Vekel pitched forward stiffly onto his face without a sound, and when he landed, his skin split open like that of a roast boar. Juices from his cooked flesh soaked his robes, before spilling out across the deck of the ship.

Men and women cried out, and more than one turned to the rails and retched over the side into the sea. Loki managed to cover up his own feelings of dizziness and nausea with a simple step backward into Sif. Her grasp at his elbow helped him re-center, and regain his composure.

He swallowed once, twice; took a deep breath. His voice was steady and cool as he looked Nidhud in the eye and asked, "I've reached the count of fifty-eight. Is there anyone else you wish to be rid of?"

Nidhud stared at him for a long moment, and it seemed no one on deck so much as breathed while they waited for their king to make his decision. His gaze flickered back and forth, between Loki and the very clearly dead Vekel, before he summoned a guard to his side. "Bring him out," was all he said.

The woman bowed, and disappeared behind the throne.

No one spoke. The sun sank lower into the sky, and Loki waited, with Sif at his side.

There was a scraping sound, and Völund himself came into view, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches and dragging his legs behind him. Loki winced, and stepped forward, but Nidhud raised a hand to stop him and every man and woman of the crew around him drew their weapons.

"I will agree to your terms, Loki Odinsson-Tyrsson," said the king. "You will leave, you will take your smith with you, and you will be granted safe passage. But I never want to see you again."

Loki lifted his chin and looked down his nose at the seated man. "The feeling is mutual. I hope in future you will have better control over those under your rule. It would not do for you to appear… weak… by being unable to command their respect and obedience."

Unspoken, but clearly understood by both, was the awareness that appearing weak compared to other Vanir kings, or appearing to be under threat from Asgard, was a very good way for Nidhud to lose everything he had worked so hard to build as part of his reign, quickly and with finality.

"Safe journeys and good wind, Aesir," said Nidhud. His voice might have been lacking in sincerity, but the chests of gold he ordered to be brought forward at least spoke to his willingness to put the entire matter behind them and cause no more trouble.

Loki bowed again, feeling gracious in victory. "And to you as well, king of seven islands."

"My belongings," said Völund suddenly. "All of them. Everything I've begun to craft while you _kept_ me here like a dog."

"They shall be returned to you," began Nidhud, but the smith actually spat at his feet.

"You'll bring them out _now_ ," he said, "or I'll lay a curse on everything I've ever crafted that made its way to Vanaheim. Misfortune to follow every blade. Armor that will fail when its wearer needs it most. Gauntlets that cannot be removed, and burn their way to the bone. Weapons that turn on their bearers. Do you want that?"

Nidhud scowled, eyes wide and nostrils flared. "You heard him!" he barked. "Spread the word among the fleet. If it was crafted by Völund, bring it to the Aesir ship and leave it on their deck. Let them deal with the ill luck it brings."

* * *

 

The crew treated Völund with respect enough, at least, though they looked at Loki in fear; they rigged a harness for the smith, and lowered him carefully over the side where Loki and Sif were waiting to guide him onto Skidbladnir's deck. One by one, dinghies from the other vessels began to approach them, with crew members handing over sheathed blades, and chests with pieces of armor in them, and pouches of jewelry. And some pouches just filled with gold, which Loki thought might have been meant as appeasement gifts. He thought of refusing them, but one look at the hard expression on Völund's face changed his mind.

"What are these?" asked Fandral, turning over an odd metal contraption in his hands. It looked vaguely skeletal, and had many joints and spreading limbs. There was a second one, slightly less complete, at his feet.

"Wings," said Völund. "I was building wings."

Loki looked over his shoulder at the smith, frowning, but did not ask until they were underway again and clear of the Vanir fleet. "Wings?"

"For my escape." Völund raised an eyebrow and looked sidelong at the three youths preparing to hoist the sail. "Although you arrived before I could put them to use."

"Ingenious," said Fandral. He spread one out, and Loki could see it now, the shape of the frame similar to a bat's wing, or a dragon's. "I should like to see these in the air sometime."

"Perhaps after we've returned to Asgard." The older man leaned back against the gunwale, reaching forward to adjust his crippled legs. "Didn't expect to see you here, young prince."

"My father came for you originally," said Loki.

"Aye. I remember. Is he well?" Völund took a deep breath, and lowered his voice. "Did he survive the attack?"

"…More or less." Loki turned away, and with Sif began to hoist the sail. "You may want to brace yourself," he added, as they drew the lines taut and made them fast. The ship's enchantment took effect, and wind caught the sail and Fandral took the rudder, guiding them back toward Bru as fast as Skidbladnir could carry them.


	24. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of all the excitement, Loki speaks with Völund, his father, Odin, and Thor.

"So he lost his hand," said Völund. As they sailed back to Bru, Loki had given him an abbreviated version of events that had taken place after the smith was captured.

"Yes," said Loki. "They… we tried to rescue him, Thor and I and some men, but we failed. They told Father I was killed, and he…" He broke off with a sigh.

"And you blame yourself for their actions," said Völund.

Loki looked out over the water. "Everyone is telling me not to—"

"And everyone is right." The smith shifted in his seat with a little grimace, and lifted his water skin. "You're young yet. And you love your father. There's nothing wrong with either of those things. But take it from some of us older, presumably wiser folks: you can only ever choose your own actions and reactions. You can't take responsibility for anyone else's, and you'll only torment yourself if you try."

Loki sighed again. "I just wish there was something I could do to make it up to him," he said, not meeting Völund's eyes.

"Well, now," said Völund, rubbing his chin, "there just might be."

* * *

 

They stayed on Bru for only a few more days after rescuing Master Völund. The healers wanted to make absolutely certain that Tyr was well enough to manage the Bifrost, and Loki did not want to leave his side. Sif and Fandral, fortunately, didn't seem to mind.

"I'm not looking forward to returning to Asgard and facing the consequences," said Fandral cheerily. "My mother is going to have my head when she learns where I've been, and _assuming_ she lets me live, I'll still have to face the All-Father."

"You're more frightened of your mother's reaction than of the king's?" Sif asked, amused.

 "You haven't met my mother."

"What of you, Sif?" asked Loki. "How do you think Mo—your shieldmother—will react when you return?"

"I'm not certain," she admitted, "but I do not fear to face her. She placed me in your service, after all. I do not see how Shieldmother could be angry with what I have done, when she was the one who commanded me to follow you." She glanced up at him. "I'm more concerned for you, to be honest."

"Tyr isn't likely to punish you," put in Fandral, "but the All-Father?"

"I don't know what he could do," said Loki, but he wasn't feeling especially confident himself. Old memories of how the man had once mistreated him kept clouding his thoughts. "I didn't break any of the rules that he set for me."

"No, but you know you broke the spirit of his commands, even if you obeyed the letter," said Sif.

Loki shrugged, trying to project nonchalance, but his voice had a bit too much edge in it. "He should have known better than to try and order me away from my own father."

* * *

 

Finally, it was time for them all to return home; Völund was impatient to get back his forge, and the healers had declared Tyr well enough to travel.

"You are taking your own ways home?" asked Tyr, fumbling to put on his shirt one-handed. The struggle was obvious, as was the frustration he was trying to suppress.

Loki shook out the folds and assisted him. "I am forbidden from using the Bifrost, Father; Odin would throw me in the dungeons for certain if I were to travel with you."

"I think you overestimate his wrath."

"Possibly I underestimate your ability to sway his temper, where I am concerned," said Loki.

"Heh. That is possible. Still. Go quickly. I do not wish to be parted from you for long."

"Nor I from you, Father."

"Safe travels, then."

"I'll see you soon."

* * *

 

"I can't believe that entire ship folds up into such a small bundle of… twigs." Fandral stood shaking his head at what was left of Skidbladnir, as Loki bent to pick it up from the beach of the uninhabited island.

"You saw it before," he said, making the bundle vanish.

"Before I knew what it was!"

"Boys," said Sif. "Enough."

"Impatient, Sif?"

She huffed a breath, folding her arms. "I do not look forward to Loki's secret paths. They unnerve me, but the anticipation is worse. Let us be on our way and get the trip over with." She swung up into Sleipnir's saddle as if to emphasize her point.

"Very well," said Loki. "Before we go, though… thank you. I don't know if I said it before. Thank you both. My father is… he might have died, if you hadn't come with me and helped me to rescue him."

"Anytime, Loki." Fandral had an unusually serious expression on his face. "You would have done the same for either of us."

"I would, yes." It had been nerve-wracking, gory, hellish, terrifying, and exhausting in turns, but yes. Loki would have done the same for his friends. "I just didn't realize ahead of time quite how much I would be asking of you, before we got here."

Fandral shrugged, but it was Sif who said, "None of us could have known. We'd never faced a true battle before."

"There are those who will say that you still haven't."

"Why, because you used magic?" Sif snorted and rolled her eyes. "Likely either people who have never fought themselves, or who cannot stand to see their ineffective methods invalidated by something better."

Loki quirked one corner of his mouth. "Thank you."

Sif just shrugged, and leaned forward to let Fandral mount behind her. "You taught me that."

"Even so." Loki opened the way to the secret paths, and stepped forward, leaving Vaneheim behind.

He had the suspicion that, after everything he'd seen, he was leaving a part of himself behind as well. He thought of Vekel and shuddered, and hoped there was nothing he was bringing back with him that should have remained.

* * *

 

"You defied my wishes and went to that realm after I had expressly forbidden it!"

"I did nothing of the kind, All-Father," said Loki. It was an effort not to lose his temper, and some edge crept into his voice. After the carnage of battle, after cutting Kaetilfast's head from his still-warm corpse, there was something about the All-Father that, for all his power, now only seemed like the blustering of an angry old man, rather than the terrifying, intimidating presence that Loki had known as a child. "You forbade me to use the Bifrost, and I did not. You commanded me not to order any of your troops into battle, and I did not."

Odin did not seem to appreciate his hair-splitting, given the strength of his glare. "You were _not_ intended to go to Vanaheim."

"I am not to be blamed for having other means of travel than the ones you control." _And other allies and resources_ , Loki thought but did not say. "I did not defy you; I kept to the letter of what you ordered, but if you had ordered me to abandon my father in his hour of need, then you are correct. I would not have obeyed you."

"Yes, you have already given me a clear demonstration of just how little you respect my authority."

"No, All-Father. I have demonstrated that I will not leave the people I care about to suffer, when there is something I can do about it." Loki took a deep breath, willing himself to calm. "I did what Asgard could not, in any official capacity. I rescued both General Tyr and Master Völund, recovered the ransom that Asgard had originally paid for Völund's safe return, and eliminated a threat to Asgard's safety and security in the person of Kaetilfast, an Asgardian citizen who had turned against us and tortured his former commanding officer."

Odin still glared, but instead of shouting some more, he turned away and paced the length of his study and back. Loki waited him out, feeling settled in his presence in a way that he had never felt before. Calm. Certain of his position.

Odin had power, Loki did not doubt that and he did not dismiss it; at the same time, however, he felt confident that there was truly little Odin could do to hurt Loki anymore. At worst, Loki would simply have to find a way to escape whatever Odin might have in mind.

"There are those who are clamoring for a feast to be held in your honor," said Odin finally, and Loki blinked in surprise. "I suppose that would please you."

"It would not, All-Father," he replied, and watched as surprise stole over Odin's own face. "I do not consider what I did to have been heroic—certainly not in the way that the skalds describe heroism. Were any songs to be sung of my deeds, they would be met with derision."

"If you do not consider your deeds to be heroic, then what do you consider them to have been?"

Loki licked his lips, remembering, but met Odin's gaze calmly. "Necessary."

"Hm." Odin considered him for a moment, and must have seen something in his face, because he nodded and said, "You have learned something of the realities of war."

"Only the merest taste, I am sure," Loki said. "But it was not a taste I found palatable."

Odin nodded again. "Then you see it for what it truly is, and not disguised by the tales men tell to ease their consciences when the nights grow dark and long, and they are left only with their thoughts and memories of the true horror of it."

"Perhaps. I will not claim wisdom in this arena, All-Father. It was only one battle, after all. And I'm sure there are a great many who would tell you that I am no warrior."

Odin nodded again, before turning away and pacing another few steps. "I am not pleased with your willfulness," he said finally, "yet, as you said, you obeyed the letter of my commands to you. And with Tyr returned, I cannot punish you without drawing the wrath of my people. But I will not reward you, either."

"I did not seek a reward, All-Father," said Loki quietly, vulnerable without quite intending to be, hoping Odin would understand. "I only wanted my father back."

"And you have that."

"More or less." Tyr was still recovering with the palace healers, but he would be sent back to Vingólf later that day to continue his convalescence; he was struggling still, both as he recovered from his illness and as he adjusted to life without one of his hands. Loki, meanwhile, was struggling with demons of his own, after Vanaheim, and wasn't sure how he could help his father, despite how much he wanted to. On top of that, he still had commitments to honor on Alfheim, to complete his training there as a battle-mage.

With luck, Miiran would be able to help him with more than just his training.

"Even so," said Odin. "You… have done well. As you said, you accomplished what Asgard could not. And you learned from the experience. You maybe be the second prince, Loki—the shadow prince—but you do well there in the shadows, I think… where answers are not as clear cut as they seem in the bright light of day."

Loki bowed formally. "Thank you, All-Father."

Odin glanced toward the door. "You are dismissed. Collect your foster father. Return to Vingólf. And… Asgard may call upon her shadow prince, if she has need."

Now, that was an interesting development indeed, and not one Loki had expected. "If I am able to serve, I shall, All-Father," he said carefully—not quite willing to commit himself to an undefined promise, especially not where Odin was concerned.

Odin quirked his eyebrow at that, but waved Loki off rather than say anything, so Loki took his leave.

* * *

 

"You must be proud." Thor fell into step beside Loki when he was halfway to the healing wing.

Loki glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, struck by the bitterness of his tone. "Not especially," he said warily.

"You did what I could not," Thor pressed. "Succeeded where I had failed." His brother reached out and grabbed Loki's arm, pulling him to stop in the middle of the corridor. He leaned in close, his voice low. "Made me look like a fool."

Loki yanked his arm away, glaring now. "You made yourself look like a fool, brother," he said. "Do not blame me for your own actions and decisions."

"No, I—I didn't mean—" Thor took a deep breath. "I mean, I _was_ a fool. You and I both know it. Father knows it. The families of those dead soldiers I led know it. And if anyone was feeling charitable enough as to want to believe otherwise, well… you showed them how a rescue mission ought to be carried out."

"I don't know about _that_." One corner of Loki's mouth quirked up. "Nothing I did would fit the description of an honorable Aesir warrior, Thor."

"So you say. No one else does."

Loki rolled his eyes. "No one else was there."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not like it's any great mystery," Loki said with a shrug. "There were only two witnesses to what I did on Vanaheim to defeat Kaetilfast and that sorcerer. The rest of Asgard may assume I accomplished some heroic feat, but you know that's never really been my style. I only went to retrieve my father and Master Völund. My first thought was to their safety, not some… nebulous goal to win glory and word-fame."

"Are you saying you do not care that you were successful? You defied the All-Father and accomplished singlehandedly what I could not do with an entire troop of soldiers."

"Of course I care that I was successful, Thor; Tyr is my father, after all. But my success was predicated on only that—retrieving two men from Vanaheim. I am afraid that I did not count 'glory' as a condition of victory; I was not hampered by making sure my methods were honorable and heroic."

"I think I understand." Thor fell silent, and walked beside Loki for a few paces. "What will you do now?"

"Collect Father. Return to Vingólf. Sleep for a week, I think." Loki felt the fatigue all the way to his bones; he'd come back to Asgard, barely taken the time to change out of his armor, and then come straight to the palace to meet his father, only to immediately be waylaid by Odin and now by Thor. At least his conversation with Thor didn't involve repressing the urge to shout in frustration.

"Of course." When they reached the healing wing, he stopped Loki with a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry for the general's injury. I never got to say anything to you before you left."

Loki nodded. "Thank you."

"What of you?" Thor searched Loki's face, his expression worried. "Are you recovered? It wasn't that long ago that you were were injured. I didn't even think you were well enough to return to Vanaheim."

"I am fine. Fatigued, as I said. I could use a day or two of rest, and a few good meals, but nothing more than that."

Thor nodded, uncharacteristically hesitant. "If you need anything… you or General Tyr…"

Loki paused, thinking. "I'll let you know. There shouldn't be anything, but I appreciate the offer."

"Of course." Thor smiled, though it seemed a little thin. "Anything for you, brother."

* * *

 

"Father?"

"Ah, Loki." Tyr looked exhausted, but he was sitting up and smiling when Loki came in. "I expected you sooner."

"I meant to come immediately, but the All-Father detained me. And then Thor."

"Neither of them too pleased with you, I take it?"

"You could say that," said Loki. "Although Thor was mainly worried." Tyr chuckled, and though the sound was thin and weary, it warmed Loki to hear it. He glanced down at the stump of Tyr's wrist, forcing himself to look and not cringe away from it. "Are you in any pain?"

"Less than I was," replied Tyr. He rubbed at the bandages, clean and white, wrapped snugly around the stump. "The healers say there will likely always be some residual ache."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," said Tyr, "and I will keep telling you that until you believe it, my son."

"I know it, in my head. But in my heart…"

"I understand. But consider, Loki: I've been a warrior for Asgard for thousands of years. Really, I was overdue for some kind of permanent injury like this." He gestured a little, with his truncated arm. "Asgard will not shame me for it. I am neither the first nor the only warrior to lose a hand. I will adjust. Life will go on."

"You will still be Asgard's chief general."

"Unless the All-Father sees fit to replace me, yes."

"Do you think he would?"

"No." Tyr frowned. "Why, did he say something to you?"

"No! No, nothing like that."

Tyr shifted in his seat, bringing his feet off the bed and onto the floor. He studied Loki's face, his eyes as sharp as ever "What did he decide to do with you?"

"He was not pleased, of course. I didn't really expect him to be. But as I did not technically break any of his commands, and as you are returned and Asgard rejoices, he finds himself unable to punish me in any meaningful way." Loki met his gaze. "Although he did say that Asgard might have a use for my particular skills in the future."

"Particular skills?"

"He called me the 'shadow prince'."

Tyr's eyebrows went up, and he nodded slowly, taking that in. "I have not wished to impose upon your studies," he said after a moment, "but I have thought now and again about how well suited you might be to the position of spymaster."

Loki huffed a little laugh, surprised. "I would have to consider that carefully, I think," he said. "I could see myself serving Asgard in that capacity and reporting to you, or possibly Odin; but as you said, I value my studies even more."

Something must have shown in his expression, because Tyr's smile faded and he tipped his head thoughtfully. "Something troubles you."

"It is nothing."

"I doubt that," said Tyr.

He was right, of course, but Loki had no idea how to tell him about Vekel, and the unclean feeling that crawled underneath his skin. He dragged a hand through his hair, and sighed. "It is only that I must return to Alfheim to complete my studies with Miiran of Cor Caan. I do not like to leave you when you are still recovering."

Tyr waved that off with a shake of his head. "There is little you could do for me that Hoenir cannot," he said. "Technically, as my valet he was supposed to assist me to dress all along. I just never saw the need for such a thing." He shrugged, and looked down at his arm again. "He will aid me while I adjust. It will be fine."

"Yes, Father."

Tyr reached out and rested his good hand on Loki's shoulder. "I am sorry to disappoint you, my son. I know you would stay and help if I asked it. But I have no desire to keep you from your studies." He narrowed his eyes, shrewdly. "That is not all that troubles you, either," he added.

"There is something else," Loki admitted reluctantly, "but it is a magical matter."

"I see. Not something I could aid you with, even with both my hands," said Tyr.

Loki gave him a half-smile. "I'm afraid not."

"Well then, perhaps Miiran of Cor Caan will be able to do what I cannot."

Loki thought of the unclean feeling under his skin, and said, "I hope so."


	25. Afterward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments from the ten years following the events on Vanaheim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly the longest chapter of the entire fic, because I wanted it to be the final one and didn't want to break it up.

Miiran and Loki were seated beneath the same tree as they'd been… was it really only a few weeks ago? Loki found it hard to believe. His life had been upended in an incredibly short time. He'd nearly died, his father had nearly died, he'd faced battle, he'd come away…

"I feel unclean," he said, finishing his tale about Vekel and the contact they'd had when Loki vanquished him. "Contaminated. Like there is a part of him still under my skin. I wanted to ask your help to get him out."

Miiran nodded, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes as she looked him over carefully. "There may be a residue of his energy," she said slowly, "but his essence, his soul, is not present. He died, Loki. He is not here."

"But his seidr is?" Loki shuddered.

The shaman shook her head now, decisive. "Perhaps remnants, scraps, but no more than that."

"But I don't want them!" Loki cried. "Any of them. When I left Sigyn, she tried to kiss me goodbye and I could not bear her touch, remembering the things Vekel used to do to his 'pretty girls and boys'. It was as if _I_ had done them, and it repulsed me. There are smells that bring up _his_ memories, foods I cannot bear to eat, dreams I've had of things that never happened to me. It has to _end_ , Miiran. I feel I'll go mad if it doesn't."

Miiran rose to her knees and leaned over to wrap Loki in a fierce embrace. "You should never have had to face such a thing," she said, "and I am sorry that you carry that trauma with you now." She pulled back, cupping Loki's jaw in both hands and forcing him to look her in the eye. "You were originally planning to stay with us for five years, while you learned the basic skills of combat magic. Instead you went into combat barely trained, and now you suffer for it. I am sorry for that."

"It wasn't your fault—"

"And I do not assign myself blame. Some things cannot be helped. But, as I was saying, you were to be here for five years. If we double that time, we can certainly purify your thoughts as well, separate your experiences from his, and eradicate what does not belong. But it will be hard work, Loki. Emotionally exhausting. You and your healers will become… very intimately acquainted. You may not wish to lower your own barriers that far. When it is done you will have a handful of elf shamans who know you at least as well as your lover, or your family. Perhaps more deeply. Can you trust us that far?"

Loki shut his eyes, taking a deep breath that shook on the exhale. "I don't know," he said, opening them again to meet her gaze. "But it's a price I am willing to _attempt_ to pay, at least, if it means I will be rid of Vekel."

Miiran smiled in satisfaction and sympathy. "That is all I can ask, my friend."

* * *

 

Even ten years were nearly nothing in a lifetime that spanned millennia, and besides, Loki visited Asgard one month of each year. Mimir returned from Jotunheim periodically as well, and nearly had a fit when he learned what had happened in his absence.

"You are certain you are well?" he demanded, after Loki explained all that had happened. "The shamans are certain that you can be healed of this… damage?"

"Yes, Mimir. I promise. Vekel's energy dissipated within the first six months of my stay; the rest are just… my own memories of his memories, if that makes sense. Seeing what he did, and remembering what I _witnessed_ , rather than remembering it as something I _participated_ in." He sighed, and reached for his drink. "I am probably not saying this well. You could speak with the shamans yourself, you know, if you wanted."

"I may do that," he said, stroking his beard. "I am not trained in the elven forms of combat magic, of course, but I feel as though I were remiss in your teaching. That I failed you, and allowed you to become… wounded."

Loki sighed again and shook his head. "It was no one's fault. Miiran has taught me that much, at least."

"And they are certain that they can heal you?"

" _Yes_ , Mimir," laughed Loki. "For the hundredth time, _yes_. The healing is already begun. They have dealt with traumatized warriors before, who carry their memories of battle too closely. And that includes warrior mages. They say my case is entirely straightforward, and nothing they have not seen before."

"I suppose I shall have to trust their judgment, then," said the older seidmadr, and Loki leaned back in his seat.

"Enough about me," he said. "Tell me of your search on Jotunheim."

* * *

 

"I miss you, Loki," said Sigyn one night.

Loki kissed her, and pressed his forehead to hers. "I know. I miss you too. I wish…"

"It's not your fault."

Loki pulled back and raised his eyebrow at her, making her giggle a little despite everything. "I was the one who got into the fight with Vekel."

"It was still an accident, Loki. You know that."

"I do." They kissed again, and he pulled her close as they watched the sunset. "And I am recovering."

"I can tell," said Sigyn. "You are a little more like your old self every time you visit. It's wonderful to see. I know you'll never completely be that person again—"

Loki reared back to look her in the eye. "I'm not so damaged as all that—"

"Let me finish." Sigyn reached up and stroked her fingers through his hair. "We all move forward through time," she said. "Every experience shapes us. None of us can ever go back to who we used to be, without erasing all the memories and experiences that brought us to where we are in the present moment."

Loki could not help but kiss her again, lingering and sweet. "When did my love become so wise?" he asked, smiling.

"I was always wise," she said tartly. "You are only now wise enough yourself to notice it."

He laughed, and she joined him. "Ah, I see. So that's how it is."

"That's how it is."

The sunset that night was especially beautiful, Loki thought, and he could feel Sigyn's warmth at his side, down to his very bones.

* * *

 

"Care to spar?"

Sif spun on her heel to face her friend. "Lo—Ljufa," she said, sounding pleased. "How has Alfheim been?"

"About as grueling for me as life with your shieldmother has been for you, I expect," she said.

"Sigyn mentioned you were learning combat magics." Sif stepped across to the weapons rack and hung up her sword, pulling a quarterstaff free instead. "I'd be honored to test you."

"Test yourself, you mean," said Loki, sweeping her hair back into a quick ponytail.

"Both," said Sif, and then they began.

A few minutes later, they were both wide-eyed and staring at one another. "I didn't realize I could do that," said Loki.

"I didn't realize that was even _possible_ ," said Sif. Then she grinned fiercely, and picked herself up off the ground. "But I _will_ find a way to counter it."

* * *

 

"Ah! Loki," said Völund, looking up from his work, some delicate bit of jewelry he was bent over at his work table. "I'll be right with you."

Loki waited politely, not commenting as the master smith pulled his crutches to him and hauled himself away from his workbench and out to the shop room where he met with clients. An apprentice had already brought Loki tea, and Loki made a show of admiring some of the finished pieces for sale rather than staring as Völund came through the doorway and settled himself in his customary seat. Healers had been unable to undo the damage to Völund's legs, but his upper body remained as strong and agile as ever; the smith had been able to continue his work with only a few modifications to his forge, and now that a few years had passed, he moved easily enough on his crutches that it was difficult to think of him as "crippled" in any fashion.

"I have to say, your correspondence intrigued me," he was saying, as Loki joined him at the table.

"Do you think it can be done?"

"Crafting a facsimile would be simple," said Völund. "Create a mold, pour some silver." He shrugged, and met Loki's gaze with a shrewd expression. "I have a feeling you've something more complicated in mind."

"Well, yes, and if you've read my letters you know what I'm considering. But can it be _done_?"

Völund leaned back in his seat, considering. "You'd need a core," he said finally. "The metal could take the enchantments you discussed, and more besides, but without a core to connect it to him…"

"I understand." After a moment, he brought his hands together, and between them brought forth a wooden box, ornately carved on the lid. "Will this do?"

Völund lifted the lid and his eyes widened when he saw what was inside. "Is this—?"

"Yes." He glanced down at his hands. "I meant to dispose of it honorably, but then I just… never did. Perhaps the Norns meant for me to save it for this."

The smith nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off Loki's offering. "Are there any other enchantments on it?"

"No," said Loki. "It was covered in traps when it first was delivered, but I removed all of those."

"Then I think we just may have the core you need," said Völund with satisfaction. "In fact, I think we have the absolute ideal core. Certainly this will work better than anything I was expecting you to come up with."

Loki smiled in sudden relief. "There's still the payment to consider," he said, but Völund waved him off.

"I'm moderately wealthy already, with my work," he said. "And you and he both tried to rescue me from that snake Nidhud. I owe you this."

"If you're sure…"

"Heh. Well. There's also the fact that you will likely tell everyone you know where it came from once it is complete, and my custom will grow even further, and then I will not be merely a moderately wealthy man, I'll be both wealthy and busy for the rest of my life."

"Ah, I see," said Loki, beginning to grin. "Enlightened self-interest."

"Of course. Makes the world go 'round."

Loki raised his mug of tea, and Völund copied him. "I'll drink to that."

* * *

 

"Is it true what I've heard about elven healers?" asked Sigyn, on a later visit.

"What have you heard?"

She blushed, and bit her lip. "It is said that their methods are… intimate."

Loki smirked. "Ah. You mean the stories that claim their methods involve shameless orgies," he said, and watched as Sigyn blushed more deeply.

"I cannot help but wonder," she said a little defensively, and Loki kissed her again.

"They believe in healing the soul and mind by attending to the body's needs, yes. Sometimes that involves… what you are thinking of. But it's not—I can't explain it. It isn't as lewd as you are thinking, probably." He leaned in and nuzzled behind her ear, closing his eyes as he heard her sigh. "They've seen you in my memories," he said quietly. "They like you. Some of them have asked me to, ah, pass along their greetings, so to speak."

Sigyn pulled away and turned to look at him, amused. "You mean give me a kiss from them?"

"Among other things." He leaned back in and bit gently on her earlobe, while one hand slid slowly down to rest on her stomach. "They don't want you to feel that they could replace you in my affections. And I think some of them want me to reward you for your patience."

"Patience." Sigyn scoffed lightly. "Don't be silly. You were wounded, Loki, wounded in battle. If it had been me—"

Loki's hand twitched on her stomach. "I don't even want to think of such a thing."

"I know, but if it had, would you have felt resentful that I could not bear your touch for a time? Would you have thought I _owed_ you intimacy? Would you not have allowed me as much time as I needed to recover from such a thing?"

Loki's hand flexed again on her belly, more gently this time, his thumb tracing the curve of it as her breath caught. "You are too good to me."

"I am only as good as you deserve." This time, she kissed him, and he relaxed into the sensation in perfect contentment. "I love you, Loki. I would give you whatever you needed. You know that."

"I do," said Loki. "And the elves know that, too, now. And I think some of what they have taught me—or, well, some of the… ahem. Some of the _specific techniques_ that they've used in my healing—were deliberately intended to be for the purpose of thanking you. There is no jealousy among elven lovers, Sigyn. They like me, and they like you, so…"

"So they taught you things with the express purpose of pleasuring me?"

"Well, yes."

Though she was still blushing, Sigyn raised her eyebrow in challenge. "Then I think you should show me what you've learned, so you can report back to them whether or not I liked their gift."

* * *

 

Loki came home from Alfheim for the final time without fuss or fanfare. He simply stepped between the worlds, Miiran's kiss still lingering on his lips, and came out at Vingólf's lower pasture, where Sleipnir greeted him with a huff and a shove, snuffling him all over and nosing at his pockets in the hope of receiving a lump of sugar.

"Silly creature," said Loki with a smile. "I missed you too."

He'd been light on his feet before, thanks to Geirny the Thief's teachings. Now he moved like an elf, virtually silently even across the fallen leaves in the lower pasture and along the paths back to the palace. The old dirt pile, as Tyr called it. Sleipnir followed him up from the pasture, Loki's hand on his neck, and Loki took a moment simply to breathe in the scents of home, listening to the birdsong floating on the wind.

He'd become quieter in the last ten years, not that he'd been exactly a boisterous person to begin with. Thor and Frigga had both remarked on it, when he'd seen them last. Thor, for his part, seemed to be countering Loki's quiet by becoming even more raucous than before; brash, loud, bordering on arrogant. Loki wasn't sure what to make of that; it was possible that he was seeing things that weren't there, though, just by comparing Thor's typical exuberance to Loki's increasing silence.

Frigga, of course, had worried; Loki had needed to reassure her that he was not troubled in spirit or still damaged by his first battle, ten years prior. He wasn't; if anything, he felt better than ever, more solid, more certain of who he was and his purpose in the Norns' tapestry. He simply kept his own counsel a bit more, observed a bit more before acting, thought a bit longer before speaking.

Naturally, Thor assumed he was scheming or hiding things from his brother, for all that he covered it with good-natured teasing and nagging to uncover Loki's supposed secrets. Their relationship had never quite recovered its old closeness after Vanaheim, the elder brother still stinging, if subconsciously, from his defeat and what he perceived as Loki's showing him up. Or perhaps Loki was wrong, perhaps it was simply that they had had ten years to grow apart while Loki trained on Alfheim and Thor adventured across the realms. Loki couldn't be quite certain, and it wasn't as if they'd had much opportunity to talk in the intervening years.

"Young master Loki!" He'd entered the courtyard via the stables, and Hoenir had spotted him and was coming down the steps as quickly as his aging legs would carry him. "You didn't send word you were coming!"

"I didn't want to make a fuss," said Loki, "since this isn't a visit." He hefted the satchel hanging from one shoulder. "I'm home for good, now."

"Your father will be thrilled to see you when he arrives," said the old valet, clapping him on the arm warmly. "I'll let Olief know to prepare your favorites for dinner. We shall make a feast of it!"

"Really, Hoenir, there's no need…"

"Nonsense. You've been missed, young master. Surely you know that?"

"Well, I certainly didn't think I'd been forgotten," laughed Loki. "But I thought simply to settle in for a day or two, say hello to Sigyn and the others quietly, before we made a spectacle of things."

Hoenir sighed. "As you wish, then," he said. "I suppose once you have officially returned, the All-Father will expect you to take up some of your princely duties. He's been attempting to give Thor more responsibility while you've been gone, and the prince has been eager to prove himself."

"Well, of course, he is the heir," reasoned Loki.

"Between you and me, young master, I think there is more to it than that."

Loki set that aside for later. "You said Father wasn't in right now?"

"At the barracks, still."

"Of course." Tyr had been training in weapons for thousands of years, and wasn't going to let a little thing like amputation slow him down. He'd been almost as good with his left hand as with his right even before he was maimed, and now he spent hours each day perfecting his muscle memory and training with the other recruits. Loki was proud of him, although Tyr shrugged it off, as modest as always. "I shall be in my chambers, then, unpacking and resting. If you could tell him I look forward to a game of tafl after dinner, when next you see him?"

Hoenir smiled and bowed. "Subtle, young master."

Loki returned the smile, and headed up the stairs. "I do try."

* * *

 

Tyr greeted Loki that evening with an enormous hug and the patient smile that Loki had missed most. "My son is returned at last," he said, holding Loki out at arm's length to take a look at him.

"It's only been a year since you saw me last, Father."

"That is true, but I must confess that your visits of only a month at a time never seemed like they were enough. You always had to return to Alfheim before I was ready to let you go."

"I'm sorry, Father."

"No, no. Don't be. It is only that it never sat well with me to see you go so soon after… after everything on Vanaheim. I wanted to be there for you, and I could not."

"I know, Father."

Tyr turned to walk them both toward the dining hall, and Loki strolled beside him. "But you are well? All healed?"

Loki laughed. "You ask that every time, and every time I tell you that my healing was considered complete a few years back. I've merely been refining and completing my training all this time."

"I cannot wait to see what you can do."

"It's nothing especially flashy, I'm afraid. A dagger in the dark is not as showy as a duel between champions."

Tyr only shook his head. "But just as effective, if not more so," he said.

"That is rather the point," Loki agreed.

" _Is_ there anything you can demonstrate? A spar with Mimir, or some other seidkona, perhaps?"

Loki considered it. "I suppose you could invite Miiran or some mages of her choosing to come and visit. We could present something of a demonstration for you."

"You could suggest that to the All-Father," Tyr pointed out. "It has been a while since we've hosted a delegation from Alfheim; the gesture might be appreciated."

"I'll do that, Father, thank you."

* * *

 

Over tafl a few nights later, Loki looked up from the board to find his foster father studying him, rather than the game. "Is something the matter?" he asked.

Tyr smiled and shook his head. "Not at all, my son. Just noticing the changes in you, since you left. You've grown."

"Mother worries over what she calls my newfound silence."

"Heh. It is a mother's nature to worry. I hope you are not bothered by it."

"Not generally, no," said Loki, "although it is a bit tiresome sometimes… when it seems as though she is _pushing_ for me to behave the way I used to. I don't—there isn't anything _behind_ my silences, and I was always quieter than Thor anyway. I don't see what is bothering her about it now when it never used to."

"As I've said. You've grown, changed. And you did so where she was unable to observe the changes taking place."

"Thor assumes I have some sort of ulterior motive, as if I'm plotting or scheming rather than simply observing and thinking." He sighed, and slapped his piece into position on the board with an audible _clack_. "Sorry. I suppose it's bothering me more than I realized."

"Give them time," said Tyr. "You've had time to change; now they need time to get used to those changes."

"I suppose."

"If it's any consolation, I am not worried."

Loki smiled. "That does help, Father; thank you."

They played awhile longer in silence, Loki content not to fill it with idle chatter, happy simply to be with his father. Tyr seemed equally content, and they finished one game and began arranging the pieces to start another before the general spoke again.

"Have you given any further thought to the notion of becoming my spymaster? I think you would be well-suited to the role."

"I've considered it, yes, but I fear I've been too preoccupied with my studies to really deliberate on it. Why do you ask?"

"I have received some intelligence reports from Vanaheim that I thought to show you, and ask if you might wish to offer your opinion. Highly confidential, of course, but I trust your discretion."

Loki blinked. "I'm honored, Father."

"Nonsense. You've more than earned my trust."

Loki ducked his head, feeling a bit like he was still a child as he attempted to hide his blush. "Have you discussed this with the All-Father? I mean, have you discussed showing me the reports?"

"The topic has come up a time or two. He doesn't know I'm involving you here, but he knows I've considered it."

"And…?"

"And he is not opposed. I think he's decided that if I wish to test you, he will allow it."

Loki huffed a laugh. "He does seem fond of his tests." He moved the first piece across the board, and said, "Very well. I will look at your reports. I confess I am curious now to see what you have in mind for me."

* * *

 

"Völund?" Loki peered around the door frame cautiously, not wanting to disturb the smith if he was involved in anything delicate.

"Ah, my prince." The smith dusted his hands off on his apron before reaching forward to clasp Loki's arm. "I wondered when I might see you."

"How has the work gone?"

"Come, see for yourself." Völund picked up his crutches and led Loki to the back room, and pulled a box down off one shelf. He opened it, and pulled out something that gleamed like silver in the lamplight.

"It's exquisite," said Loki, turning it over and examining it closely.

"Aye. Some of my best work, I'd wager. All that remains is to hammer the enchantments in."

"Then I suppose it is good that I returned home when I did."

"When can you get started?" asked Völund. "I'll block out the time in my schedule, so we won't be disturbed."

"I could start right this moment, if you wanted."

"Heh. Eager, are we? Not that I blame you. I'm very interested in seeing how this turns out."

"As am I."

"Well, then. Take a seat, my prince, and let's begin."

* * *

 

"There you are!" Fandral called out across the busy street, before crossing and slapping Loki's back in greeting. "Every time I stop by your home lately, they tell me you're out."

"I've only been working on a project, these past few months. It's nearly finished, though."

"I should hope so," Fandral said, looking him up and down in concern. "You look exhausted."

"It's nothing to worry about," Loki promised. "I've been working a number of intricate enchantments, and they take a lot of energy and a lot of concentration. Since we're in the final stages, I suppose I've been pushing myself a bit harder, that's all. A night's rest and I'll be fine."

"If you say so." Fandral shifted out of the way of a pair of children running through the market. "Final stages? Your project is nearly complete?"

"Indeed." Loki thought of the box he carried with him in interdimensional space even now. "Only one final step, actually, and it will be."

"Will you tell me what it is?"

"A gift for Father, if he will accept it."

"He always appreciates your gifts, Loki, don't be ridiculous."

Loki could only hope that Fandral was right.

* * *

 

"Another gift, my son?" Tyr eyed the box with a little frown. "You've already given me something from your travels to Alfheim. What is the occasion this time?"

Loki licked his lips, a nervous habit that Tyr had not seen from him in many years. "This is a… provisional gift, Father. One I'm not sure you will want, and you needn't accept it if you don't. But I couldn't leave things as they were, and I thought this might… make amends."

"Amends, Loki? For what?"

In answer, Loki simply held the box out, inviting Tyr to open it. It was wooden, and ornately carved with motifs Tyr thought he recognized as Vanir. He settled the box on his bad arm, steadying it with his good hand, and carried it over to his desk.

He lifted the lid and couldn't help the flinch at what was inside.

Nestled on a cushion of red velvet lay a hand of brightly polished metal, silver but with an iridescent sheen where it caught the light. It was perfect sculpture; its fingers were loosely curled in relaxation, and Tyr could see the shape of the tendons passing across the knuckles. Turning it over, the creases on the palm were clearly visible, and he could even feel something like fingerprints adding texture to the digits.

It was perfectly sized, and if Tyr didn't know better, he'd even call it an exact replica of the hand he'd lost. It certainly seemed familiar, which was part of what made it so disconcerting to look at.

"Loki," he said slowly, "…what is this?" His son, of all people, would know that Tyr cared little for vanity, and would have no need of a cosmetic replacement to hide his injury.

"It's a prosthetic," said Loki, the words rushed in his nervousness. "Enchanted. I've been working on it for the past several months, but if you—that is to say, I hope you will at least try it, but if you truly do not want it—"

"Enchanted," said Tyr. "How?"

"It's… it's meant to be useful, Father. Not just for looks. If it works as I've intended, you could wield a sword with it, as well as you ever did with your living hand."

"Is that so?"

Loki nodded. "Among other things," he said. "I've enchanted it to… well, to do a great many things. But it's meant to—I know it cannot truly replace what was taken from you, but it's not intended to simply give you the _appearance_ of a hand. I know you don't—I know you're not _ashamed_ , or anything, and you shouldn't be, but I thought—"

Ashamed. Ah. "Loki," he said gently, "my son. You do know that what happened to me was not your fault. Don't you?"

Loki took a breath, and wouldn't quite meet Tyr's eyes. "I know. I do know, Father. But I still blame myself, and I just… I wanted to make things right."

"There was never a need for that, my son," said Tyr, and watched as Loki's face fell. "Be at ease; I am not rejecting your gift. I only want you to understand that you should not feel obligated to make such things out of a sense of guilt."

"You're—you're not?" Loki's face lit up in a grin, and Tyr watched his shoulders drop in obvious relief, and his heart hurt a little at how anxious his son could still become, if he thought his love might be spurned by those he cared about.

"How does it work?" he asked. "I see no straps or buckles to attach it."

"No, no, that's part of the enchantment. It needs two drops of your blood, though. Here, at the root of the wrist, as if we were attaching it to the bones of your forearm."

Tyr rolled up his sleeve to reveal the stump of his arm, now long healed. Cautiously, he pulled a knife and made two small cuts where Loki indicated. They stung, but Loki merely lifted the metal hand and held it to the cuts. His blood smeared on the end of the prosthetic…

… and the fingers twitched, spasmodically.

And Tyr _felt it._

Eyes wide, he looked up at Loki and then back down to the hand, where Loki was clasping it. The root of the hand had shifted its shape, become liquid and flowing, and now capped the end of Tyr's stump securely. Tentatively, not quite sure how he was doing it, he willed the fingers to move again. Tendons in Tyr's forearm responded, and he saw the muscle flex, and just like that he was squeezing Loki's hand with his own.

"How?" he whispered. "How is this possible?"

"Well, er… to start with, not to be gruesome, but the hand was cast around your own bones. From… from _your_ hand, after it was taken. They had sent it here as part of a ransom demand, and I—kept it."

Tyr curled his new fingers into a fist, and opened them again. He rotated the wrist back and forth, looking at the palm and the back of the hand. "That is perhaps a little gruesome, my son."

"The bones are gone now!" Loki was quick to reassure him. "They couldn't withstand the heat of the molten metal. There's nothing… but they provided a, a magical core, a skeleton for the enchantments to build on that would make it possible to _connect_ them to you."

"I think I understand."

"Here, look at the fingerprints," said Loki. Tyr rubbed his fingers together, marveling at how he could feel the tips, rough as if with calluses. Looking closely, he could see that the "fingerprints" were actually very tiny runes, carved in loops and spirals on each finger, rows upon rows of them. "There are runes of protection and strength, and sensitivity, but also runes to prevent the hand from growing too hot or too cold and harming you, and others to prevent you from feeling too much pain. You could reach into a lit fireplace with this hand and it would not hurt."

"I think I'll hold off on testing that, if you do not mind."

"Fair enough. But on a winter's day, the hand will not chill, either. You'll never need to take it off, and no one else can take it from you against your will, either. But you _could_ remove it, if you wanted. To… I don't know, to bathe, I suppose? But you wouldn't have to. And there's a great deal more besides. I must have put a few hundred runes in place; it would take hours to describe them all."

Tyr was still quietly marveling at the sensations, at the absence of the phantom ache that he'd lived with for the past ten years; the pins-and-needles, the occasional feeling of movement, and the impression of his fingers bending in strange directions were all gone. In their place was simply his hand, as if it had always been there. Perhaps a little less sensitive than Tyr remembered, but not enough for him to care.

Still in a daze, he sat at his desk and pulled out a pen and ink, and wrote a few words. His new hand behaved just as the old one had, not crushing the pen or the jar of ink, not dropping or fumbling them. The carved fingerprints gave him just enough grip that nothing slipped off the otherwise smooth metal. Out of curiosity, he tried to snap the pen between his fingers and found that it did so easily.

"It might be a bit stronger than your original, living hand," said Loki cautiously. "I didn't want it to be weak. I may have… overdone it a bit."

"I'll be sure to test that carefully," said Tyr.

"Your _arm_ of course is the same as it always was, so I wouldn't recommend trying to punch through solid stone, or anything like that."

"Heh." Tyr looked up at Loki, who stood before Tyr's desk fidgeting and biting his lip. "Loki, this is a masterpiece of enchantment. And as a sign of your devotion to me…" He shook his head in wonder. "I will treasure it, always."

"Master Völund crafted the hand itself," said Loki. "And he helped me to inlay the enchantments, as well. Taught me how to carve the metal. It's an uru/elvensteel alloy, by the way. Is it too heavy? We tried for a balance between strength and comfort—"

"Enough, Loki. This is… this is amazing. I am not at all sure how to thank you for such a gift."

"Just wear it," said Loki. "That will be enough for me."

When Tyr came back around his desk to wrap Loki in a hug, his metal hand slipped through Loki's hair and he felt every strand.

"I love you too, my son. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Father."

Tyr stepped back and went to his liquor cabinet, pouring them both glasses of the fine brandy he preferred. "You said it would take hours to describe all these runes," he said with a smile.

"Well, there are rather a lot of them."

Tyr's smile widened. "Sit," he said. "We have time. For you, I will always have time."

And they sat together, father and son, and talked long into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not usually an author note kind of person, but... Thank you all for your reviews, your kudos, your bookmarks, and your good wishes. I am already thinking of how to write a followup to this, so even though Merlin is a complete cinnamon roll and is beginning to really distract me, I might not be done with this fandom after all.
> 
> Very special thank you to Shi_Toyu for her help, suggestions, and general hand-holding throughout the process of writing this fic, as well as to the rest of the wonderful people in my Google Hangout who kept me company and offered feedback. You are all wonderful and I would have lost my sanity by now without you. Thank you also to those who have offered fanart and fanfic (there is fic of my fic, holy cow), for making me feel very special indeed.
> 
> If you want to leave extra kudos, you're welcome to stop by [my Tumblr blog](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) and say hello.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For Glory, For Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894708) by [Shi_Toyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/pseuds/Shi_Toyu)
  * [Hoofin' It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360269) by [Shi_Toyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/pseuds/Shi_Toyu)




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